Page 42 of Where She Belongs
“Save it,” she interrupts, waving her manicured hand. “Andrea already explained. You two weren’t exclusive yet.” She leans in conspiratorially, her voice dropping. “Between us, I’m impressed she was mature enough to accept that. My niece has always been... traditional.”
“She’s an extraordinary woman,” I say with complete sincerity.
“Yes, she is,” Aunt Linda agrees, studying me intently. “Which is why I’m concerned about this... pattern of yours.”
I blink, caught off guard. “Pattern?”
“Young man,” she says with the confidence of someone who has already conducted a thorough background investigation, “Ispent twenty minutes on Google. Your dating history is, shall we say, robust.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I have to stifle a laugh at her phrasing. “I’m not going to deny that I’ve dated quite a bit,” I admit. “But Andie is different.”
“How?” The question is simple but penetrating.
I hesitate, aware that my answer matters—not just for maintaining our charade, but because it’s true. “Because she’s the standard I’ve been measuring everyone else against for years,” I say finally. “I just didn’t realize it until I got my chance with her.”
Aunt Linda’s eyebrows rise, clearly not expecting such candor. Before she can respond, Andrea’s mother materializes at her elbow.
“Linda, stop interrogating the poor man,” Maribel Martin chides, though her own expression suggests she’s equally interested in my answer. “It’s Tristy’s rehearsal dinner.”
“I’m just looking out for Andrea,” Linda says, unrepentant. “Someone has to make sure he’s serious this time.”
“This time?” I repeat, confused.
“The Instagram photo,” Maribel explains gently. “It’s making the rounds among the family now. Eduardo’s brothers are quite... protective of Andrea.”
As if summoned by her words, I notice a group of older men across the room, all watching me with unmistakable disapproval. One of them—who I recognize as Andrea’s Uncle Joey from her Christmas card photos—draws a finger across his throat in what I can only interpret as a universal warning.
“Wonderful,” I mutter.
“Don’t worry,” Maribel pats my arm reassuringly. “Eduardo will calm them down. He likes you.”
“He does?” This is news to me.
“Of course. He says you look at Andrea the way he looks at me.” Her smile turns slightly mischievous. “He also says you’re not subtle about it.”
Before I can process this revelation, the dinner bell chimes, signaling guests to find their seats. Maribel and Linda move away, but not before Linda gives me a final warning look that clearly communicates:Don’t hurt her or we’ll make you regret it.
Message received.
I scan the room for Andrea, finally spotting her near our assigned table. Our eyes meet across the crowded space, and something in her expression—vulnerability mixed with a quiet resolve—makes my heart constrict. I start toward her, determined to clear the air, to explain about Valerie, to tell her how I really feel.
But before I can reach her, Simon steps into my path, his smile sharp as a blade.
“Dr. Vasquez,” he says, voice pitched just loud enough to be heard by those nearby. “Quite the social media storm you’ve stirred up. Valerie, was it? The flight attendant?”
I force my expression to remain neutral, though what I really want to do is wipe that smug smile off his face. “Simon,” I acknowledge coolly. “Shouldn’t you be finding your seat?”
“Oh, I will,” he assures me, not moving an inch. “I just wanted to express my... concern about the negative attention Andrea’s receiving. Her clinic depends on its reputation, you know.”
The implication is clear, and anger flares hot and sharp inside me. “Andrea’s clinic has an impeccable reputation because she’s a brilliant doctor who’s done incredible work in the community for fifteen years,” I say evenly. “Nothing on social media will change that.”
“Perhaps,” Simon allows, his gaze calculating. “But donors can be fickle. Especially when they start wondering about thejudgment of someone who would date a man with your... track record.”
“My personal life has nothing to do with Andrea’s clinic,” I say, keeping my voice low despite my growing anger.
“Doesn’t it?” Simon raises an eyebrow. “Everything Andrea does reflects on her work—who she associates with, who she brings to events, who she... trusts.”
Before I can respond—before I can figure out how to respond to such a precise strike at my deepest insecurity—Tristy’s voice cuts through the tension.
