Page 13 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)

“What about you, anak?” Mom asks, her eyes searching mine. “What changed for you?”

This is my line, the part of our charade we haven’t fully scripted. I take a careful sip of water, buying time.

“I think I just finally saw what was right in front of me. Someone who shows up, who listens, who makes me laugh even on my worst days.” I look at Gabe, finding it easier to speak to him directly than to my scrutinizing family. “Someone who never makes me feel like I’m too much… or not enough.”

“Ay! That’s so beautiful,” Tita Joy sighs as Gabe’s hand tightens around mine. “Oh, to be young and in love again.”

I’m rescued from further interrogation by a server arriving with our coffees, giving me a moment to collect myself. This is just pretend, I remind myself. These truths about our friendship aren’t the same as romantic feelings. I’m just being a convincing actress.

As the conversation shifts to the wedding and the ever-present camera people documenting the event, Gabe’s arm settles across the back of my chair.

It’s a casual gesture, one he’s done countless times before when we’ve shared booths at Frontier or during gatherings with friends and colleagues.

Yet now, with the weight of our pretense between us, I find myself hyperaware of the light pressure of his forearm against my shoulders, the subtle scent of his cologne mingling with the coffee aroma.

“Andrea,” Mom says, drawing my attention back to the table. “Honey, your aunts were asking about your dress for the wedding.”

“Sorry,” I say, realizing I’ve completely lost track of the conversation. “What about it?”

Tita Linda’s knowing smile makes my cheeks warm. “Distracted by your young man?”

Before I can respond, a familiar laugh cuts through the pavilion’s pleasant buzz.

Simon and Kitty have entered, making their way toward a table near the windows.

As if sensing us watching, Simon turns, his eyes finding our table immediately.

The smile he offers is all teeth as he steers Kitty in our direction.

“Good morning, Maribel, Eduardo,” Simon greets my parents with practiced warmth. “Joy, Linda—what a pleasure to see you both again.”

My mother’s smile tightens. “Simon. Katherine.”

“Kitty, please,” she corrects, her hand possessively curled around Simon’s arm. “Only my students call me Katherine.”

The awkward silence that follows is excruciating. Simon’s gaze slides to Gabe’s arm across my chair, to our coffee cups positioned intimately close together.

“Sleep well?” he asks, his innocuous question somehow loaded with innuendo.

“Very,” Gabe answers before I can, his voice dropping to that lower register that always seems to make women lean closer. His arm slides from my chair to my shoulders, drawing me subtly against his side. “The ocean sounds are... soothing.”

Simon’s smile falters for a fraction of a second. “I wouldn’t know. Our suite faces the gardens.”

“Such a shame,” Gabe replies, his expression all false sympathy. “The sunset from our balcony was spectacular.”

The protective way Gabe holds me, the deliberate emphasis on “our”—it’s all for show, a calculated response to Simon’s needling.

I know this. Yet I can’t deny the flutter in my stomach at the way Gabe’s fingers trace absent patterns against my bare shoulder, the way he makes me feel sheltered without making me feel small.

Is this what all his girlfriends experience? This sense of being the sole focus of his attention, of being both protected and desired? No wonder they fall so quickly, so completely.

“We should let you enjoy your breakfast,” Kitty says, tugging Simon’s arm. “We have that call with your producer in twenty minutes, honeybuns.”

As they turn to leave, Simon pauses, his eyes cold despite his smile. “Oh, and Andrea? Your daughter was looking for you. Something about the final dress fitting you’re apparently late for.”

“What?” I check my watch in alarm. “That’s not until tomorrow morning?—“

“They rescheduled,” Simon interrupts with a calculated smile. “Tristy sent me to find you. Something about the boutique needing to adjust everyone’s schedule.”

My heart races as I reach for my purse, already imagining Tristy waiting impatiently. “I should call her.”

I pull out my phone, quickly texting Tristy as Simon watches, that familiar smug expression settling on his face. The reply comes almost immediately.

“Fitting is still tomorrow at ten,” I read aloud, looking up to find Simon and Kitty already retreating. “Nothing’s changed.”

Gabe’s jaw tightens as he watches them leave. “Did he really think you wouldn’t check?”

“He was hoping I’d panic and leave,” I say, anger replacing my momentary anxiety. “Classic Simon move.”

My mother reaches across the table to pat my hand. “Anak, don’t let him ruin your breakfast.”

“I’m not,” I reply, taking a deliberate sip of my coffee as I try to steady my nerves. This is exactly why I needed Gabe with me this weekend—Simon knows exactly which buttons to push.

“Well, look who’s already commandeered the best table!” Dax’s voice breaks through my thoughts as he and Harlow approach, both dressed in casual resort wear that somehow looks magazine-worthy on them.

“Dax, Harlow!” Dad stands to greet them with warm handshakes. “Join us, please.”

As the waitstaff brings additional chairs, I feel Gabe’s hand settle reassuringly on my knee under the table. A small gesture of solidarity, nothing more—yet I find myself hyperaware of the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of my sundress.

“We were just coming to remind you two about the surfing lesson this afternoon,” Harlow says as she slides into a seat beside me. “You’re still joining us, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Gabe replies, his thumb tracing an absent circle against my knee before withdrawing. The brief contact shouldn’t feel so significant, yet the spot where his hand rested seems to tingle with remembered warmth.

“Andie?” Dax raises an eyebrow. “You’re not backing out on us, are you?”

“Of course not,” I assure him, grateful for the distraction. “Three o’clock at the north beach, right?”

Tita Linda leans forward with interest. “Surfing, Andrea? Since when do you surf?”

“Since never,” I admit with a laugh. “But apparently that’s not stopping me.”

“She’ll be great,” Gabe says with such confidence that I almost believe him. “Andrea picks up physical skills incredibly quickly.”

“Does she now?” Tita Joy’s suggestive tone makes me choke on my coffee.

“Joy!” my mother scolds, but there’s amusement in her voice.

Harlow smoothly changes the subject. “We were thinking about heading to the infinity pool before the lesson. Would you two like to join us?”

I glance at Gabe, suddenly picturing him in swim trunks, water droplets trailing down his chest—a mental image I’ve never allowed myself to indulge in before. “That sounds nice,” I manage, hoping my voice sounds normal.

“Perfect,” Harlow says. “We’ll meet you there at noon.”

As breakfast continues, the conversation flows easily between wedding details and resort activities. I find myself gradually relaxing, Simon’s petty manipulation fading to background noise against the warmth of family and friends.

Beside me, Gabe fits seamlessly into the tableau, his arm draped casually across the back of my chair, occasionally leaning close to share a private comment that makes me laugh.

It’s all for show, I remind myself each time his breath tickles my ear or his fingers brush my shoulder.

Just part of our carefully constructed charade.

Yet as I catch my mother’s knowing smile, as I feel the weight of my aunts’ approving glances, I can’t help wondering if maybe I’m the only one who sees the performance for what it is.

Everyone else seems to accept our relationship as something real and natural—even inevitable, based on Tita Joy’s comments.

“I always knew you two would figure it out eventually,” she says as we finish our meal. “The way Gabe looks at you... anyone could see it.”

I laugh it off, but find myself studying Gabe’s profile when he turns to chat with my father. Has he always looked at me differently? Or is that just another story my aunts are writing to fit their romantic notions?

Either way, I have a few hours to prepare myself for seeing Gabe Vasquez in nothing but swim trunks at the infinity pool. Enough time to reinforce the mental boundaries between friendship and remember that everything between us—every touch, every look, every protective gesture—is just for show.

Even if it doesn’t always feel that way.