After what felt like an eternity of waiting by the door, Damien's frustration reached its peak. Just as he was about to give in to the urge to pound on the door once more, it creaked open, revealing Rose on the other side.
She had on a black robe that hung loosely around her, paired with a white jacket that seemed ill-fitting and out of place. Damien's eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance, his irritation mounting with each passing second.
"It's my coronation, woman! We're not attending a bloody funeral!" Damien's voice was laced with frustration as he struggled to contain his sharp tongue.
Rose met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and exasperation, her own patience wearing thin. She had spent considerable time searching for an outfit that balanced style and comfort, mindful of her changing figure. But Damien's lack of understanding only served to fuel her frustration further.
