Page 20 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)
This kiss, this charade, this whole weekend—it’s a fantasy, nothing more. And the sooner I remember that, the less it will hurt when reality reasserts itself.
After lunch, I make my excuses and retreat from the group, claiming a headache. I need space to think.
Logically, I have no right to feel betrayed. Three months ago, Gabe and I were exactly what we’ve always been—friends, colleagues, nothing more. He was free to spend snowstorms in hot tubs with whomever he pleased.
So why does it hurt so much?
“Escaping the festivities?”
I startle at the familiar voice, turning to find Simon approaching along the path. He’s dressed in casual resort wear, looking every bit the successful academic with his designer sunglasses and carefully casual demeanor.
“Just getting some air,” I reply, instantly regretting my solitary walk. Of all the people to run into, Simon is the last person I want to see right now.
He stops beside me, gazing out at the ocean. “I heard about the...” he begins, his tone solicitous though I know him too well to miss the predatory gleam in his eyes, “the Instagram revelation.”
Of course he’s heard already. Nothing travels faster than gossip at a destination wedding.
“Sorry to disappoint you but it wasn’t a revelation,” I say evenly. “Just a misunderstanding about timing.”
“Mmm.” He makes a noncommittal sound, still looking out at the water. “That’s what you told everyone, I hear. Very mature, very understanding. The perfect supportive girlfriend.” He turns to look at me, his smile sharp as a blade. “But we both know that’s not really you, Andrea.”
I bristle, crossing my arms over my chest. “You don’t know me anymore, Simon.”
“Twelve years of marriage says otherwise.” His gaze is clinical, detached. “You’ve never been able to handle feeling second-best. Remember how upset you got when I missed your clinic’s fundraiser for that conference in Chicago?”
“You mean the ‘conference’ where you were actually with Kitty in her apartment? The one you were paying for?” I can’t keep the bitterness from my voice. “Yes, I remember.”
He dismisses this with a wave of his hand.
“The point is, you’ve always needed to be the priority.
It’s one of your more... challenging qualities.
” His gaze is calculating. “So I have to wonder how you’re really feeling about your boy toy hooking up with flight attendants while supposedly falling in love with you. ”
“Gabe and I have an understanding,” I say, wishing I could remove the defensive edge from my tone. “And he’s not my ‘boy toy.’”
Simon chuckles, the sound entirely devoid of humor. “Oh, Andrea. He’s ten years younger than you, with a reputation for bed-hopping that even I find impressive. What exactly do you think this is leading to?”
I turn away, unwilling to let him see how accurately his barbs have hit their mark. “I didn’t realize you cared so much about my love life, Simon. Especially considering how thoroughly you removed yourself from it.”
“I’m concerned for Tristy,” he counters smoothly. “I don’t want her getting attached to your latest... project, only to be hurt when it inevitably falls apart.”
“My ‘project’?” I repeat, anger rising. “Is that what you think this is?”
“Isn’t it?” He raises an eyebrow. “The distinguished Dr. Martin and her young, handsome protégé. Tale as old as time.”
“You’re projecting,” I say flatly. “Just because you preyed on your graduate student doesn’t mean everyone operates that way.”
His eyes narrow, the first crack in his carefully maintained facade. “Kitty and I have a genuine connection. A future.”
“Good for you,” I say, meaning it despite my anger. “I wish you both well. Now, if you’ll excuse me?—“
“He’ll want children, you know.” Simon’s voice stops me as I turn to leave. “Men his age always do, eventually. And you’re, what, forty-three now? Practically menopausal.”
The casual cruelty of his words steals my breath. Even knowing Simon as I do—even after all the pain he’s caused—I’m stunned by this deliberate attempt to wound me where I’m most vulnerable.
“That’s none of your business,” I manage, my voice impressively steady given the turmoil inside.
“I’m just pointing out the obvious.” His tone is reasonable, academic, as if we’re discussing market trends rather than my fertility. “You couldn’t give me another child when we tried. What makes you think?—“
“We never ‘tried,’” I interrupt, anger finally breaking through my composure.
“You pressured me about having another baby when Tristy was in high school, knowing full well I was focused on expanding the clinic. Then when I finally agreed to consider it, you were suddenly ‘too busy’ for fertility appointments. Funny how that coincided with Kitty entering your graduate seminar.”
Simon has the grace to look momentarily discomfited. “That’s not how I remember it.”
“No, I’m sure it isn’t.” I take a step back, putting distance between us. “Your ability to revise history has always been remarkable.”
“Andrea,” he says, his voice softening into the tone he used to use when trying to manage me. “I’m just trying to save you from embarrassment. You saw that Instagram post. The man was with another woman at exactly the time you claim your relationship began. What does that tell you?”
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.”