After a while, Cedric finally saunters over and plops down beside me on the balcony. "Brooke, what's wrong? You're not eating or talking to anyone," he drawls with all the concern of a disinterested cat. I explode, rolling my eyes dramatically. "How do you expect me to be, Cedric, f*****g ecstatic?" I snap, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "You forced me into this marriage, made me ditch my dream job—yeah, the one thing I actually gave a s**t about: my art. And don't even get me started on my wardrobe situation! I've got no bloody clothes, can't even take a decent f*****g bath, and to top it all off, I'm stranded without a damn phone. So, forgive me if I'm not throwing a f*****g parade." Cedric blinks, taken aback by the ferocity of my response. But hey, if he wanted a fiery wife, he got on
