“Emery.” Oh. Oh my. His tone, which is firm without being harsh and causes my mushroom feet to pause on the carpet. “Get your ass to the terrace. Not gonna ask you again.” “I…” “I don’t wanna hear your excuses. I wanna hear you say yes.” I still don’t give him what he wants, and I hate the strange disappointment I feel in myself that this is so hard. I could be a side quest. I could also make him mine. This has been the wedding from heck. And he’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen in real life — not to mention, thoughtful in ways no man has ever trained me to expect. I’m used to doing things on my own. Controlling things on my own. Never asking for help.  “I’m wearing pajamas,” I say lamely.  “Don’t care what you’re wearing. Understand me when I say this, Emery. You’re not a side quest.” The words rearrange everything in my chest. “You hear me?” And it’s the sincerity in his tone that’s entirely responsible for what sneaks out of my mouth next. Words I’ve never said to a man before. “Yes, sir.” Silence. It’s crushing. I can’t believe I just… “Emery.” He clears his throat. I’m about to fumble over myself in apology when he barks in words harsher than the previous ones he’s spoken, “You moving?” “I…yes.” And I am. I’m moving straight to the damn terrace.  “Good girl.”