The man ignores the command and positions himself against the wall, arms crossed, with a bored expression on his face. My jaw nearly drops at the blatant disregard. “I’m afraid Pierce doesn’t take orders from anyone but me,” my husband says, drily, his voice deep and low. A vein throbs near my grandfather’s temple and his face turns the color of a ripe tomato. No one disobeys him. At least not without suffering the consequences. With a deceptive calmness he moves to his desk and picks up a pen lying on top of a piece of paper. My eyes land on it. Certificate of Marriage. “Sign.” He holds the
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