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“What are we naming?”

“Our daughter.” I open my notebook and show him the pictures. There’s about twelve little girls in total, in modeling photos pasted across both pages. “Or daughters, I should say. We’ll have three.”

He takes in the pages, then looks back at me.

“Not sure if you know this but you can’t choose⁠—”

“It will be three daughters,” I insist. “Also, I want to live in the Hills.” I flip the page and show him sprawling mansions. “I grew up here, so you’ll obviously be selling that apartment of yours.”

“I’d need to sell to afford something up here,” he says easily, studying the pictures.

“You’ll have to get a better job too,” I continue. “I need at least twenty thousand a month for my allowance alone.” I turn the page to show him pictures of beaches, jets, clothes. “Plus vacations, new cars, and jewelry on top of that.”

He tilts his head.

“Need all that do you?”

He looks unsure. Good. Time to push.

I flip to the next page and tap the picture of the engagement ring I’ve been lusting after since I was twenty.

“We’ll have a ridiculously huge wedding. Ten bridesmaids, a live orchestra, the most expensive dress in the world, and I want to release hundreds of white doves at the end.” I tilt my head, eyes sparkling. “And if you don’t cry when I walk down the aisle, we’re doing the whole thing over again.”

“I’ll be crying, alright—thinking about the bill.”

Now here’s the part where I make myself seem like a complete bunny boiler.

“And you’re not allowed to look at other women. Not even a glance. I’m very jealous. I’d probably hit you with my car.”

“I’ve seen how violent you can get,” he says, like it’s a completely reasonable concern. He actually looks a little worried.

Oh my God. The fact that he thinks I’m genuinely capable of murdering him is mortifying.

But I push the thought aside. And go in for the final kill.

“And to prove your lifelong commitment to me,” I say, lifting my chin with full dramatic flair, “you’ll get my name tattooed on you. A big one. Maybe right across your chest.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep a straight face. “Well? What do you think?”

Drew stares at the diary for a long beat, then slowly lifts his gaze back to mine. That infuriating, lazy smirk curves across his mouth.

“I think most women would be mortified to share these plans so soon. But you’re not even trying to hide how obsessed you are with me.” His smirk deepens. “It’s a little concerning, honestly.”

My face flushes.

“I am not obsessed with you.”

“Yeah?” Drew says, eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’ve already planned our kids, our house, and my complete financial ruin⁠—”

He reaches for the diary, but I snatch it back before he can touch it.

“I was trying to scare you off!”

“Scare me off?” He laughs, low and genuinely entertained. “Baby, you’re the one who can’t stay away. I told you—you have to wait until after I finish this job. Then we can talk about your insane plans.”

My cheeks burn.

“I wasn’t serious,” I snap.