Page 102 of My Favorite Fake Romance

He places his hands on my hips, still smiling. “I was just going to say, ‘Easton, you’re the person I want to share the rest of my life with, and your first initial has nothing to do with it. Marry me.’”

I smile up at him. “Yes.”

His brow furrows. “Yes? But that wasn’t really it, Easton. I’m going to do it the right way. You’ve just got to wait.”

I shake my head. “I’ve already accepted. I don’t want any proposal but this one.”

He looks around us. “We’re standing next to an elevator and a public restroom. In ahospital.”

Okay, sure. It doesn’t hold a candle next to getting proposed to in Paris, or at a Mardi Gras parade. It probably isn’t even as good as being proposed to at a steak house because the guy’s forgotten you don’t eat red meat.

But that’s the thing about getting proposed to by therightguy. You don’t need the perfect story.

Elijah has always been the only part of this story that matters.

And I don’t need the story at all, as long as I have him.