Page 11 of Where She Belongs
“No,” she says, cocking her head toward Simon and Kitty who are currently wrapped around each other like love-struck teenagers. “As long as you both are happy, I’m happy.”
“We’re taking it one day at a time,” I say, hoping to ease her mind. “And don’t worry, your mom can handle herself.”
Suddenly, Tristy’s face brightens and she whips out her phone and holds it out in front of her, her other hand pulling me to her side. “Quick family selfie for the socials before the luau.”
I smoothen my pants. “But?—”
“Smile!”
“Wait for us!” Simon calls as he and Kitty hurry over, but Tristy’s already snapped two shots.
“Stand by Tyler, Dad.” She positions her father and his girlfriend on Tyler’s other side before handing her phone to someone standing next to a man with a full camera rig. As I stare at him, I realize in my Simon-and-Kitty panic, I’d completely forgotten about the film crew.
Crap.
“We’ll need your release forms for the wedding special,” someone says as we head for the exit. In front of us, Simon and Kitty continue with their public display of affection, slowing down to a stop as he kisses her in the middle of the terminal.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes, but then Gabe’s hand finds mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles sending a shiver running down my spine.
“Focus on us. We’re a couple, remember?” he says with a playful wink as we make our way toward the waiting limos. Around us, some passengers have stopped to film the entourage with their phones.
“Gabe, there are cameras everywhere,” I say as he gestures for me to step inside the limo.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, my love. You look beautiful.”
“But that’s not why…” My voice trails as we settle into our seats, realizing he just said I looked beautiful. Me, in my wrinkled linen suit and panicked state. Me, the mother of the bride who just made up some lie that she’s dating her best friend.
As the passenger door closes, I look up at Gabe, allowing myself to get lost in his impossibly dark eyes the way his other conquests must have done.
Did he call them beautiful, too?
But it doesn’t matter. Ten years of friendship, and I’ve never looked at him like this before. Never had to. He was always just Gabe—the passionate resident who grew into a trusted colleague, the friend who showed up with take-out from Frontier when I was drowning in grant applications, the surrogate big brother who taught Tristy how to perfect her soccer kick.
Only this time it’s different.
He’s my boyfriend. Has been for the last three months.
And for the next four days, that’s the story I’ll stick to.
The irony isn’t lost on me. For years I’ve prided myself on being direct, honest, unflinching in the face of difficult truths. Now here I am, constructing elaborate lies because my ex-husband’s mere presence threatened to crack my carefully maintained facade of being “fine” with everything.
Only there is nothing “fine” about the way I’m suddenly hyper-aware of every point where our bodies touch, every casual adjustment of his arm around my shoulders, every shared glance that needs to carry the weight of our lie.
When I catch Simon watching us with that familiar calculating look—the same one he wore when explaining why he “had” to work late at the office again—I lean further into Gabe’s embrace, savoring his warmth, his presence, and the feel of his lips pressed against my temple.
For a moment, I can almost believe this isn’t an act. That I’m not still that woman who discovered her husband’s betrayal in her own home, that I’m someone who could fearlessly start over, who could...
I shut that train of thought down before it can leave the station. This is nothing more than a favor between friends—an incredibly generous one that I have no idea how to repay. Playing boyfriend wasn’t exactly what Gabe signed up for when he agreed to be my plus-one, and now we’re in completely uncharted territory.
But as his thumb traces absent circles on my shoulder, somehow both comforting and unsettling, I realize I’ve never been moregrateful for his friendship. I just hope four days of pretending to be in love won’t cost us the decade of trust we’ve built.
I’ll figure out how to make this up to him later. Right now, I need to focus on getting through this weekend with my dignity intact—and maybe, just maybe, proving to Simon that he didn’t break me after all.
FOUR
Our phones start buzzingin unison five minutes after leaving the airport. One notification, then another, and another, until it sounds like we’re conducting a very poorly tuned orchestra.
“You might want to silence those,” Tristy says, biting back a grin as she tucks her own phone away. “It’s about to get worse. Much worse.”
