Opening his door, Dayton waits until I’m inside before he steps in behind me, sliding my bag from my shoulder making it clear he plans on me staying.

“All right, let’s talk.” He tosses his keys on the stand next to the door and puts my purse down next to them.

Wrapping my arms around my middle, I draw in a breath, then ask the question, burning the back of my throat. “Why would you tell my dad that we’re getting married?”

“Because it would be smart.”

Smart. I’m really starting to despise that word.

“That’s not a reason to get married, Dayton,” I tell him softly, and the muscle in his jaw flexes.

“All right, then, because I’m fucking selfish.” His fists clench at his sides as his eyes scan mine. “Because you still have your ex-husband’s last name. Because my kid is growing inside you. Because I don’t fucking like the idea of you being able to just walk away and me unable to do shit about it.”

“I wouldn’t just be able to walk away,” I whisper, caught off guard by his honesty and the depth of the emotions wrapped around everything he just said.

“You could.”

“Okay, I could. But even if I had your last name and a ring on my finger, I could still do that. It’s a choice to stay with someone, Dayton. A piece of paper or a last name doesn’t hold someone accountable.” I toss my hand out toward him. “You know I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to get into another relationship without figuring out who I was. But the thing is, I like the person I am when I’m with you. I like that you just let me be me, that you make me laugh, that every time I’m with you, I know there is nowhere else I want to be. I’m so fricking happy it scares me because I have never had this with anyone but you.”

“You have all the power here, Franny.”

“Are you kidding me? You could decide tomorrow that you don’t want to be in a relationship with me and that you don’t want to be a dad and then walk away without me being able to do anything about it. But I’m trusting that, at the end of the day, you’re choosing me and this baby.”

“I’ll always choose you and our child,” he says quietly.

“So trust that I’m choosing you—not because we share the same last name or because it would be easier if we tried to make this work, but because my happiness is twisted up in you,” I whisper, and he closes the distance between us and pulls me into his arms.

“You proved your point.”

“Thank God.” I curl up against his chest. “Arguing with you is exhausting, big guy.”