Page 4 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)

I met Courtney Philipps over a year ago when she showed up at my clinic to make an appointment for her boss, Gareth Roman, who’d showed up a month earlier for his appointment as a new patient.

The Hollywood bad boy had just bought a ranch outside of Taos and after news of his visit ended up making local headlines, he needed to know if I did house calls.

Six months into our relationship, while attending her friends’ wedding in Tenerife and after a few glasses of sangria, she demanded I tell her I loved her. She also wanted me to commit to something more serious—one that came with a ring.

The request caught me off guard, making me realize I’d never said those words to anyone before—much less to someone I’d been casually seeing for six months.

When I refused, she asked me to leave the island.

Maybe she was bluffing but I wasn’t about to stay long enough to find out.

I was on a flight back to New Mexico the next day.

“Let’s just say that destination weddings and sangria don’t mix well,” I say, adjusting my seat back.

Andrea shoots me a look, the kind that says she knows there’s more to the story. “Must have been some strong sangria.”

“Strong enough to make me catch the first flight out of there.” I try to keep my tone casual, but Andrea’s always been too perceptive for her own good.

She taps her fingers on the armrest. “Must make those house calls at Gareth’s awkward.”

“The things we do for our practice,” I say with a half-smile as her phone chirps under the seat.

“Let me get that,” she says, reaching for her phone and checking the display.

“That son of a bitch,” she hisses as I lean over and see what’s on her screen.

Tristy:

Don’t be upset but Dad just brought Kitty.

My heart sinks. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It was his idea—his fucking idea—to show up without plus-ones! He said he wanted all attention on Tristy and Tyler,” Andrea whispers, fury radiating off her.

My phone buzzes in my jacket, but I ignore it when I see Tristy’s name. One fire at a time.

“What the hell am I supposed to do by myself while he’s got that?—”

“Why not show up with someone, too?” The words are out before I can stop them, but seeing Andrea’s smile vanish makes me reckless. I won’t let him do this to her again. Not at her daughter’s wedding.

“Like who?” She glances around the cabin. “It’s not like I can hire—” she pauses, cocking her head toward a man wearing a loud Hawaiian shirt. “Maybe him?”

“Me, Andie,” I whisper. “I mean me, the guy you’ve been describing Mile High Club positions with for the last three hours? I’ll be your plus-one.”

She settles back into her seat. “Oh.”

I gesture to our sleeping blonde neighbor. “Even she thinks we look good together.”

Andrea suddenly looking nervous. “But?—”

“Think about it,” I continue. “Simon clearly planned this, telling you no plus-ones while intending to bring Kitty all along. I don’t know what game he’s playing, but you can play it better. I’ve got your back, remember?”

She goes quiet, thoughtful. “What if you meet someone you want to hook up with? I mean, the last thing I want to do is cramp your style.”

“I’m here to attend your daughter’s wedding, not hook up with someone, Andie.” I pause. “Look, it’s your call. If you need arm candy for the next four days, I’m your man. We’ll figure out the details as we go. Besides, we’ve known each other so long that it won’t feel any different.”

“But I’ll just be playing into Simon’s game,” she says, her brow furrowing. “Just because he’s bringing his mistress doesn’t mean I need to bring someone, too. What’s wrong with showing up alone?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

“I don’t need a man to feel complete,” she declares, suddenly serious. “Or is it because people will feel sorry for the sad, lonely ex-wife showing up alone?”

“Just a suggestion, Andie,” I say as my phone buzzes again, Tristy’s name popping up on my screen.

“I’ll show him. I’ll show everyone.” Andrea’s fingers attack her phone screen.

“Just because I’m showing up alone doesn’t mean I’m lonely.

It doesn’t mean I’m incomplete or unwanted or undesirable, even if Simon wishes I felt that way.

I’m the mother of the bride, for crying out loud.

I am woman. A strong woman. And I am enough. ”

As Andrea taps furiously on her phone, I finally check my messages.

Tristy:

Is Mom ok?

Another one pops up.

Tristy:

Please tell me she’s ok. She’s still typing.

Tristy:

OK she just sent me this long text that ended with I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR. WTH is going on on your flight????

I glance at Andrea, still typing, then back at my phone. How do I tell Tristy her mother needs to blow off steam after being given the news that her ex-husband just brought his mistress to their daughter’s wedding?

I sigh and type back to Tristy:

Your mom’s fine. Just processing the news. We’ll be there soon.

I put my phone away and turn to Andrea. “Hey,” I say , touching her arm. “Maybe take a breath?”

She looks up at me, her eyes blazing. “I’m fine. I’m just letting Tristy know that everything is okay and that I’m looking forward to celebrating her special day even if her stepfather brought his mistress. Besides, who says I can’t attend a wedding by myself?”

“True, and I think you’ll be just fine.”

“Of course I’ll be fine,” Andrea scoffs. “I don’t need a man to complete me. Ever.”