“Because it’s also a bet,” I retorted, the mischief thick in my voice. “If I win, I get to propose to you in front of all of these people.” He rolled his eyes, walking away from me. “And it’ll make you feel really feminine in front of the huge crowd and their phone cameras,” I went on, talking to his back. “And it’ll be a superinteresting story—if not a little unmanly—to tell our children someday. And my father will probably lose all respect for you, but when I get down on one knee, baby,” I teased, “you’re just going to melt and swoon.”
