Page 131 of Who's Your Daddy?

“What is that?” I ask Peter. “Is that a rubber mat?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “Maybe they left it here after doing those Ninja Warrior water activities. Who knows?”

He takes me to the cabin we shared before, which is secluded yet still has a private deck for us to watch the sunset.

“This is beautiful,” I say, taking in the multicolored patterns painted across the sky.

I walk a little further out on the deck, and he’s set up a picnic with candles and rose petals. Champagne and strawberries are neatly placed on a red and white checkered picnic blanket.

“Are you trying to be romantic again?” I ask.

“Nah, some guy used it before us, and he set all this up for his...mother?”

It’s adorable that being sentimental still makes him so uncomfortable. “His mother? That’s a bit weird, don’t you think?”

“Who are we to judge?” He sits down and tugs my hand until I sit down beside him. “But...we’re here now, so we might as well enjoy it.”

I stretch my legs out and prop myself up on my elbows to gaze out over the water. “I had a great time today. I love hanging out with the whole gang. They’re all so much fun.”

“We’re still trying to get rid of Dylan,” he says idly.

I laugh. “How is he even compatible with Isabella? He’s so sweet and wholesome, and she’s...kinda hardcore, isn’t she? Like, she’s a bad-ass bitch.”

He glances over at me. “Not as bad-ass as you.”

I eye him questioningly. “I’m nowhere in her league.”

“Yeah, you’ve surpassed her. Word out in these streets is that you’ve done some hard time. That’s as bad-ass as you can get.”

I shove his shoulder. “You’re such an asshole sometimes.”

“I’m not. I’m being truthful. Do you know how much street cred that gives me? The other guys can brag about their wives and tell me how feisty they are, and how they stand their ground, and how they don’t back down. But when I start bragging about howmywife was the queen bee of her cell block, everyone else is gonna have to take a seat.”

It's not the snarky remark about being in prison that gets me. It’s the... “Yourwife?”

“Oh, yeah. We’re getting married. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No!”

“No? You don’t want to get married?”

I’m still reeling from shock because this came out of nowhere. “I do...but...I thought you’d...” I shrug. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“Why do I need to ask you? We’re living together. We’re raising a baby together. It’s the logical next step.”

“I don’t want to be logical.” I lower my voice when I realize my irritation is getting the better of me. “Peter, you can’t just assume something like that. The question has to be asked. Besides...I’ve always wanted to get married, and I thought you’d – I don’t know – put some effort in.”

He stares at me as if he’s never considered the possibility that this might be an important moment for me. “What do you mean byeffort?”

“I don’t know. The guy is supposed to think about all this stuff. A proposal is supposed to be intimate and have that personal touch, you know.”

“Hm?” He takes a moment to mull this over. “So, you want me to think of something that’s personal, like...something that’s unique and just for us?”

“Well...yes.”

“So, something like that?”

He points out to the water, and it becomes apparent that he lied about the other guys going out for a boys’ night. In the dimming light, I see Dylan floating on a paddleboat. Despite my annoyance, a loud laugh bursts out of me. He’s wearing board shorts and a Count Dracula cape, holding a cardboard sign that reads:“Marry him, Lia. He loves you...”

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