Page 5 of Where She Belongs (A Different Kind of Love #3)

THREE

“You sure you’re okay?” Gabe asks, looking worried as we step off the plane.

After wearing a path in the airplane aisle working off my righteous feminist energy, I’m almost feeling human again. The cramped quarters and recycled air had done little to soothe my nerves, but the walk had at least burned off some of my anger.

Well, almost.

“I’m fine.” I try to sound more confident than I feel, my earlier I-am-woman-hear-me-roar manifesto having fizzled into a more realistic can-I-really-do-this-alone realization.

But I’m holding onto my dignity, no matter what.

I am enough… even if I have to keep reminding myself every thirty seconds.

So what if I’m attending my daughter’s wedding without a plus-one? Since when did showing up at destination weddings alone become such a crime?

Though without my white coat and the familiar sterile walls of my clinic, I feel exposed. Vulnerable.

It’s easier being Dr. Martin, the woman who can rattle off treatment protocols and navigate complex patient cases without breaking a sweat. But here, I’m just Andrea—divorced, dateless, and desperately trying not to overthink everything like I usually do when I’m not hiding behind my credentials.

Gabe certainly isn’t worried about it. Heck, he’ll probably have three wedding dates by mid-week. I bet he’s already got the flight attendant’s number—and I’m pretty sure they would’ve fit just fine in that airplane bathroom.

“Why don’t I get our luggage while you find Tristy and Tyler?” Gabe offers as I hand him my claim ticket. “I’ll be right back.”

As I watch him walk away, I’m actually glad he was on my same flight. How I would have handled the news that Simon brought Kitty if I’d traveled by myself, I can only imagine. Without the protective shield of patient charts and medical conferences, I’d probably be a complete mess.

At least at the clinic, I know who I am—the doctor who graduated summa cum laude, who publishes research papers, who mentors residents.

Here, I’m just… me.

But Gabe is with me and for that, I’m grateful. It feels good to let someone take over sometimes and that’s exactly what he does for me—give me the illusion that he’s taking charge simply because I’m tired of being in charge all the time.

Before I can feel any more sorry for myself, I spot Tristy’s familiar face in the crowd, and suddenly my heart swells.

That’s my daughter , I want to scream to everyone. MY daughter. And I’ll do anything to make her happy. Heck, even learn how to dance some popular Internet dance if she wants.

Tristy looks radiant, glowing with the happiness that only a bride-to-be can radiate. And a successful independent woman, for that matter, having found success before she met Tyler.

For a moment, all my worries and insecurities melt away. Who knew my daughter would end up racking up millions of likes for posting silly videos of her lip syncing and dancing to hit songs—and getting paid handsomely for it? I still don’t understand how it all works but it doesn’t matter.

She’d always been on top of fashion trends and while I worried about her future—she was an average student at best and always struggled academically—her common sense approach to life made me realize everyone can’t be like me to be successful.

The girl who used to roll her eyes at my tendency to analyze everything, who teased me about turning every casual conversation into an impromptu medical lecture, found her own path to success without needing a single academic accolade.

Standing next to Tyler, Tristy spots me and waves, her smile so wide I can feel it in my soul. But then I see the couple standing behind her and my heart sinks like a rock.

Simon and Kitty.

Of course they’d be here to “welcome” me.

“Perfect,” I mutter as Tristy launches herself into my arms with the enthusiasm of a child on Christmas morning.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Mom!” she exclaims, her joy infectious as I hold her tight, savoring the moment.

“Hello, Dr. Martin,” Tyler says as I release Tristy to give him a quick hug. “Thanks for making it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, though my eyes are fixed on Simon and his mistress—no, fiancee, based on that ostentatious ring catching the terminal lights.

The same woman who sat smirking in my lawyer’s office six months ago, watching me sign away the house I’d bought before our marriage.

The house that became “community property” because I made the mistake of putting Simon’s name on the deed.

Not that it was a mistake. That’s what married couples do, right?

Except one of them usually doesn’t keep mistress for an entire year.

“Dad wanted to welcome you himself,” Tristy says, wincing with an apology she knows she doesn’t need to give. “I hope that’s okay? Your text wasn’t clear between the ‘patriarchy’ and ‘hear me roar’ parts.”

“Of course,” I say, my smile frozen on my face as Simon and Kitty approach hand-in-hand.

“Hi, Andrea,” Simon says, his gaze skittering away from mine like a guilty teenager. As it should. I resist the urge to ask if he’s scared I’ll catch him in another compromising position. “I know we discussed not bringing?—”

“Oh, it’s totally fine,” I say with a smile that’s already making my cheeks hurt. “No problem at all.” I’m here for my daughter’s wedding and that’s all that matters.

“Um… that’s good to know. I could always count on you to be rational.” Simon pauses, turning to Kitty. “I believe you two met during the…” he pauses, as if searching for a diplomatic way to say ‘when I was trying to take half your assets.’ “During the settlement discussions.”

“Yes, of course,” Kitty says with a small wave, her smile as strained as mine. “It’s nice to see you again, Andrea.”

It’s Doctor Martin , I almost correct her but I don’t. Instead, I shake her hand briefly, my eyes catching on the massive diamond ring. A bitter thought flashes—was this bought with his half of our house sale? “Likewise.”

“I knew we could all be mature adults eventually,” Simon says, and twelve years of medical training barely stop me from testing how well I remember my right hook. “Though I am sorry you had to come alone, Andrea. Still, I’m sure you’ll find... plenty of company.”

“We reserved half the resort for family and friends, Simon.” The words taste acid-sharp—I’d handled those reservations myself between meetings with divorce lawyers. “Our daughter is getting married, remember?”

Tristy’s attention drifts to her phone as Simon’s smile turns predatory. “I meant alone in your suite. You did book the Executive Suite, right? The ocean-view one?”

I arch an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“I was thinking we could switch rooms.” He gestures between himself and Kitty. “That way, you wouldn’t have to rattle around in such a big space by yourself.”

“You do have that televised meeting, honeybuns. The ocean view in the background would look great,” Kitty chirps, earning a sharp look from Simon.

Honeybuns. The pet name hits like a physical blow—the same thing I used to whisper to him. Twelve years of marriage flash through my mind, ending with the image I’ll never forget: them in our bed, her begging him to fuck her harder.

The sound of wheels on marble makes me turn. Gabe approaches with our luggage, and something tight in my chest eases at the sight of him. His eyes narrow at Simon before finding mine, filled with quiet concern. That protective look shouldn’t make me feel as safe as it does.

“Excuse me?” I ask as I turn to face Simon and Kitty again. “You want me to trade rooms?”

Simon clears his throat. “Surely you don’t need the whole suite by yourself. It only makes sense since you’re alone?—”

Something inside me snaps. Maybe it’s the patronizing tone, or the way he assumes I’ll cave like I always did during our marriage. Or maybe it’s just that word: alone. Like it’s a condition that needs fixing.

“Oh, that’s where you’re mistaken, Simon,” I say as everything suddenly clicks into place. Gabe’s suggestion. My misplaced insistence that a divorced woman could show up at her daughter’s wedding alone.

But does she really have to just to prove a point?

“Gabe and I are staying in the suite.“ The words feel both terrifying and liberating as as I grab Gabe’s arm as he reaches us, sending up a silent prayer that our decade of friendship has given him enough context to read between the lines.

“Share what?”

“The suite,” I say, my smile so wide it hurts. “You know, the executive suite that you and I will be staying in for this trip.”

I feel Gabe’s arm tense under my grip and for one horrible second, I think he’s going to expose my lie. Then his expression shifts from confusion to understanding to something else.

“Oh, you mean our suite?” His voice drops an octave as he pulls me close. “Yes, absolutely.” He turns to Simon, and I swear the temperature drops ten degrees. “Why? Is there a problem?”

“I thought you booked your own room,“ Simon says, his smirk faltering. “These resorts are perfect for your conquests. One more notch on the bedpost.”

“Notches are so last century,” Gabe says, his arm sliding around my waist with practiced ease. The gesture feels both familiar and shockingly intimate—like crossing a line we’ve spent ten years avoiding. “I’m a changed man, thanks to this amazing woman.”

I should feel guilty about dragging him into this, about compromising my stance on being enough on my own. But watching Simon’s smugness crumble, feeling Gabe’s solid presence beside me, I realize that sometimes being strong means knowing when to accept help.

“Are you two really...?” Simon’s voice trails off, stripped of its usual condescension.

“Dating? Yeah, man, we sure are,” Gabe says, tucking me closer with an easy confidence. “Why? Is that a problem?”

I can feel Simon’s eyes boring into us, as if trying to pierce the facade we’re so hastily constructing. “I just find it... interesting that after our discussion about coming alone, you’d bring a date after all, Andrea.”