Page 40 of Where She Belongs
What does it tell me? That Gabe is exactly who he’s always been—charming, impulsive, incapable of lasting commitment. That this morning’s kiss, however earth-shattering it felt, might mean something entirely different to him than it does to me.
But I’ll be damned if I’ll give Simon the satisfaction of seeing my uncertainty.
“It tells me,” I say with deliberate calm, “that you’re still the same petty, insecure man who needs to tear others down to feel powerful.” I turn to leave. “Enjoy the rest of your walk, Simon.”
“Always so dramatic,” he calls after me with an exaggerated sigh. “You know, I thought he was in love with you even back when we were married. The way he’d show up, always hovering, always available. I told myself I was being paranoid.”
I stare at him, momentarily speechless.
“But I wasn’t, was I?” Simon continues, a hint of bitter satisfaction in his voice. “He was just waiting for his chance. And now he has it—the devoted friend finally getting his reward.” He shakes his head. “I just hope you understand that men like Gabe Vasquez don’t change. Once a player, always a player.”
TWELVE
The resort’spavilion is transformed for the rehearsal dinner, strung with twinkling lights that mimic the stars visible through the glass ceiling. The effect should be magical—would be magical under different circumstances. Instead, I find myself checking my phone for the tenth time in as many minutes, scrolling through the growing disaster unfolding across social media.
“It’s getting worse,” Dax mutters, leaning in to show me his screen. “Tristy’s post about you and Andrea has over half a million likes now, but the comments section is a war zone.”
I glance at his phone, wincing at what I see.
@TristyMartin didn’t know her mom was dating a serial cheatercheck out @SkyHighVal’s post from 3 months ago
Anyone going to tell Dr. Martin her boyfriend was in a Denver hot tub with another woman when they were “falling in love”? #TimingDoesntAddUp
This is why you don’t date younger men, ladies. They’re always playing games.
The pile-on had begun in earnest about two hours ago, when someone connected Valerie’s months-old Instagram post with Tristy’s recent announcement about Andrea and me. What had started as a few suspicious comments had snowballed into a full-blown social media scandal, complete with side-by-side comparisons of the dates and endless speculation about my character.
Even my private messages have blown up including one from Gareth Roman himself.
Maaaaan I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now. But I’m invested. Good luck!
“Great,” I mutter, pocketing my phone. “Just what we needed before the wedding.”
“You know how the internet is,” Dax says with a shrug. “They smell blood and go into a feeding frenzy. It’ll blow over.”
“Before or after Andrea’s entire family sees it?” I ask, scanning the room nervously. So far, the aunts and uncles filling the room seem oblivious, caught up in the pre-dinner mingling. But it’s only a matter of time.
I spot Andrea across the room, stunning in a deep blue dress that skims her curves before falling to just below her knees. She’s smiling politely as one of Tyler’s relatives regales her with what appears to be a lengthy story. But I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes drift occasionally toward the entrance.
She’s been distant since lunch, since the revelation of the post. Though she defended me publicly, explaining away the apparent timeline discrepancy with remarkable composure, I could see the hurt in her eyes. The doubt.
And I hate that I put it there, even unintentionally.
“Relax, man,” Dax says, clapping my shoulder. “You weren’t even dating Andrea when that hot tub thing happened. It’s not like you cheated on her.”
“I know that,” I say, unable to tear my eyes from Andrea. “But it’s not just about the timing. It’s about...” I trail off, unsure how to explain.
“About?” Dax prompts.
I hesitate, weighing my words carefully. “About the fact that I don’t want her to doubt what we have,” I say finally. “About the fact that I’d give anything for what’s between us to be... everything it could be.”
Dax’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow,” he says, studying me with newfound interest. “This is serious. I’ve never heard you talk like this about anyone.”
“Yeah, well,” I mutter, uncomfortable with how close I’ve come to revealing too much—both about our charade and my increasingly real feelings. “It’s different with Andrea.”
“Clearly,” Dax says, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Harlow called it years ago, you know. Said you two were inevitable.”
“Harlow talks too much,” I grumble, though the thought that others saw something between us long before I admitted it to myself is both unsettling and strangely comforting.
