Page 44 of Where She Belongs
He raises his glass higher. “To Tristy and Tyler—may your journey together be long, your happiness abundant, and your commitment to each other unshakable.”
The room echoes with “hear, hear” as everyone drinks to the toast. I turn to Andrea, expecting to find her relieved that Simon kept things civil. Instead, her expression is troubled, her eyes fixed on her ex-husband as he returns to his seat.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper.
“Nothing,” she says quickly—too quickly. “It was a nice toast.”
“But?”
She hesitates, then leans closer, her voice barely audible. “It’s just... that’s the first time he’s ever acknowledged the sacrifices I made. After years of acting like my clinic was just a hobby that inconvenienced him.”
The hurt in her voice makes me want to cross the room and demand Simon explain himself—demand he account for the years of dismissing Andrea’s work, her passion, her purpose. But this isn’t the time or place, and Andrea deserves better than a scene at her daughter’s rehearsal dinner.
Instead, I reach for her hand under the table, covering it with mine. “He’s right, you know,” I tell her softly. “You are extraordinary. And he was a fool not to see it every day you were together.”
She looks at me then, really looks at me, and something in her expression shifts—a softening around the eyes, a vulnerability I rarely glimpse behind her carefully maintained composure.
“Gabe,” she begins, then stops as if unsure how to continue.
“Yes?”
She takes a deep breath. “After dinner, we need to talk. About how we’re going to handle the end of this charade once the wedding is over. We should plan how we’re going to ‘break up’ and put an end to all this talk about us so we can go back to our friendship.”
The words hit like a physical blow, though I keep my expression carefully neutral. “Of course,” I agree, relief at her willingness to talk warring with the anxiety her words provoke. Because while she’s planning our pretend breakup, I’m realizing something else entirely.
The truth that this isn’t pretend for me anymore. Maybe it never was.
THIRTEEN
Social media disastersand awkward toasts aside, I have to admit the resort has outdone itself for the rehearsal dinner. As night falls, tiki torches illuminate the beachside pavilion, their flames dancing in the gentle ocean breeze. String lights twinkle overhead, casting a warm glow over the gathered guests. The scene could be lifted straight from a bridal magazine—perfect, picturesque, just what Tristy deserves.
I take a sip of my wine, watching my daughter move through the crowd. She’s radiant tonight, her happiness evident in every gesture despite the earlier social media drama. How she transformed from that vulnerable sixteen-year-old who cried when she didn’t make varsity soccer into this poised young woman who handles internet controversies with such grace continues to amaze me.
“You okay?”
Gabe settles into the chair beside me, his presence both comforting and unsettling after the day we’ve had. Between this morning’s kiss, the Instagram revelation, Simon’s calculated cruelty, and the subsequent social media storm, we’ve barely had a moment to breathe, let alone talk.
“Just marveling at how grown up Tristy is,” I say, nodding toward where she stands with Tyler, the two of them laughing with his college friends. “She handled that Instagram situation like a pro.”
“She did,” Gabe agrees, his voice warm with admiration. “Though she shouldn’t have had to.”
I turn to study his face, noting the tension around his eyes, the slight furrow between his brows. “You know none of this is your fault, right?”
“Isn’t it?” His gaze meets mine, unexpectedly vulnerable. “If I’d been more careful with Valerie?—”
“Stop,” I interrupt, surprising myself with the firmness in my tone. “You were… are single. You did nothing wrong.”
“But—”
“No buts.” I place my hand over his where it rests on the table, a gesture meant to be reassuring but that sends an unexpected current of awareness through me. “It was just unfortunate timing.”
He turns his hand beneath mine, our palms meeting, fingers intertwining with such natural ease it makes my breath catch. “And now?” he asks quietly.
The question hangs between us, laden with meaning. I should pull away, maintain the careful distance we’ve observed since this morning’s kiss. But I don’t. Instead, I find myself holding on tighter, anchoring myself to him amid the swirling emotions of the day.
“Now we’re here,” I say simply, because I don’t have better words for this liminal space we occupy—no longer just friends, not quite lovers, pretending for others while hiding from ourselves.
Before Gabe can respond, music fills the pavilion—the band shifting from dinner ambiance to dancing tempos. Tyler leads Tristy to the center of the floor for the first dance, and conversation falls away as everyone watches the young couple move together with the easy confidence of two people certain of their place in each other’s lives.
