Page 21 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)

TWELVE

The resort’s pavilion is transformed for the rehearsal dinner, strung with twinkling lights that mimic the stars visible through the glass ceiling.

The effect should be magical—would be magical under different circumstances.

Instead, I find myself checking my phone for the tenth time in as many minutes, scrolling through the growing disaster unfolding across social media.

“It’s getting worse,” Dax mutters, leaning in to show me his screen. “Tristy’s post about you and Andrea has over half a million likes now, but the comments section is a war zone.”

I glance at his phone, wincing at what I see.

@TristyMartin didn’t know her mom was dating a serial cheater check out @SkyHighVal’s post from 3 months ago

Anyone going to tell Dr. Martin her boyfriend was in a Denver hot tub with another woman when they were “falling in love”? #TimingDoesntAddUp

This is why you don’t date younger men, ladies. They’re always playing games.

The pile-on had begun in earnest about two hours ago, when someone connected Valerie’s months-old Instagram post with Tristy’s recent announcement about Andrea and me.

What had started as a few suspicious comments had snowballed into a full-blown social media scandal, complete with side-by-side comparisons of the dates and endless speculation about my character.

Even my private messages have blown up including one from Gareth Roman himself.

Maaaaan I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes right now. But I’m invested. Good luck!

“Great,” I mutter, pocketing my phone. “Just what we needed before the wedding.”

“You know how the internet is,” Dax says with a shrug. “They smell blood and go into a feeding frenzy. It’ll blow over.”

“Before or after Andrea’s entire family sees it?” I ask, scanning the room nervously. So far, the aunts and uncles filling the room seem oblivious, caught up in the pre-dinner mingling. But it’s only a matter of time.

I spot Andrea across the room, stunning in a deep blue dress that skims her curves before falling to just below her knees.

She’s smiling politely as one of Tyler’s relatives regales her with what appears to be a lengthy story.

But I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes drift occasionally toward the entrance.

She’s been distant since lunch, since the revelation of the post. Though she defended me publicly, explaining away the apparent timeline discrepancy with remarkable composure, I could see the hurt in her eyes. The doubt.

And I hate that I put it there, even unintentionally.

“Relax, man,” Dax says, clapping my shoulder. “You weren’t even dating Andrea when that hot tub thing happened. It’s not like you cheated on her.”

“I know that,” I say, unable to tear my eyes from Andrea. “But it’s not just about the timing. It’s about...” I trail off, unsure how to explain.

“About?” Dax prompts.

I hesitate, weighing my words carefully. “About the fact that I don’t want her to doubt what we have,” I say finally. “About the fact that I’d give anything for what’s between us to be... everything it could be.”

Dax’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow,” he says, studying me with newfound interest. “This is serious. I’ve never heard you talk like this about anyone.”

“Yeah, well,” I mutter, uncomfortable with how close I’ve come to revealing too much—both about our charade and my increasingly real feelings. “It’s different with Andrea.”

“Clearly,” Dax says, a knowing grin spreading across his face. “Harlow called it years ago, you know. Said you two were inevitable.”

“Harlow talks too much,” I grumble, though the thought that others saw something between us long before I admitted it to myself is both unsettling and strangely comforting.

Before I can respond, my phone buzzes with an incoming text. It’s from Tristy, and my stomach drops as I read it.

Tristy:

SOS. Internet is going CRAZY. Getting death threats for “supporting a cheater” and people are tagging Mom’s clinic. Need damage control ASAP.

“Fuck,” I mutter, showing Dax the message. “This is turning ugly fast.”

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“Damage control,” I reply, already scanning the room for Tristy. I spot her in a corner, hunched over her phone, Tyler beside her looking concerned. “I’ll be right back.”

I weave through the crowd, nodding and smiling at guests as I pass, maintaining the facade of the happy boyfriend while anxiety churns in my gut. When I reach Tristy, her distress is even more evident up close.

“Look at these,” she says without preamble, scrolling through her notifications. “They’re calling me an ‘enabler of toxic masculinity’ for defending you. Someone’s threatening to contact all of Mom’s clinic donors with ‘evidence of her boyfriend’s infidelity.’ This is insane!”

“Let me see,” I say, taking her phone. The vitriol displayed there makes my blood run cold. What started as gossip has morphed into something much uglier, with keyboard warriors taking righteous stands against perceived injustice without bothering to get the facts.

“I’m so sorry, Tristy,” I say, truly meaning it. “This is the last thing you need before your wedding.”

“It’s not your fault,” she says, sounding far more mature than her twenty-six years. “People are just looking for something to be mad about. But we need to get ahead of this before my socials completely melt down.”

“What are you thinking?” Tyler asks, his arm around her shoulders.

Tristy straightens, a determined glint in her eye that reminds me so much of Andrea it’s almost startling. “The truth,” she says simply. “Or at least, a version of it that puts this to bed.”

She takes her phone back, fingers flying over the keyboard. Before I can ask what she’s writing, she holds it up for me to read.

Hey fam! Seeing some CRAZY speculation about Mom & @DrGabeV.

Let me clear things up: YES they’ve been friends for a decade.

YES they started dating around 3 months ago.

And YES they were figuring things out at first like NORMAL PEOPLE DO.

They weren’t exclusive right away! Can we please focus on my wedding and not my mom’s love life?

She & Gabe are amazing together & that’s all that matters! #BackOffMyMama #WeddingWeekend

“What do you think?” she asks, searching my face.

I read it again, impressed with how she’s redirected the narrative without technically lying. We did start seeing each other—in this pretend capacity—about three months ago. And we certainly weren’t “exclusive” when I was in that hot tub with Valerie, since we weren’t dating at all.

“It’s perfect,” I say, feeling a surge of gratitude for this remarkable young woman who’s defending a relationship that isn’t even real—at least, not in the way she believes. “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s your wedding weekend. You shouldn’t have to deal with this drama.”

“Are you kidding?” Tristy says with a surprising grin. “I’ve been an influencer for five years. This kind of thing happens all the time. And besides, no one comes for my mom. No one.”

With that, she hits post, then hands her phone to Tyler. “Hold this and don’t let me check comments for at least an hour. I need a glass of champagne.”

As she moves toward the bar, I can’t help but stare after her, struck by her resilience and loyalty.

I’ve known Tristy since she was seventeen, watched her grow from a determined teenager into the confident woman she is today.

That she would wade into a social media firestorm to defend Andrea—and by extension, me—makes a lump form in my throat.

“You okay, man?” Tyler asks, giving me a concerned look.

“Yeah,” I manage, clearing my throat. “Your fiancée is pretty incredible.”

He grins. “Don’t I know it. Fair warning though—her post is going to draw even more attention to you and Dr. Martin tonight. The aunties were already speculating before this blew up.”

As if on cue, I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to find Andrea’s Aunt Linda, cocktail in hand and expression shrewd.

“Dr. Vasquez,” she says, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’ve been hearing some interesting things about you and my niece.”

“Have you?” I respond neutrally, bracing for impact.

“Mmhmm.” She takes a deliberate sip of her drink. “Something about hot tubs and flight attendants.”

Tyler mouths “good luck” before slipping away, leaving me to face Aunt Linda alone.

I draw a deep breath, reminding myself that I’ve faced down far more intimidating situations than one Filipino-American auntie.

Yet somehow, her knowing gaze makes me feel like a teenage boy caught sneaking in after curfew.

“It’s not what it sounds like,” I begin, then realize how pathetically cliché that sounds. “What I mean is?—”

“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, “I spent 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.”