Westley You Are Late Chapter 15
On Friday night, when I walked into the ballroom on Thatcher’s arm, I realized the event was hosted by the Ferraro family.
No wonder the Pierces had been on the guest list.
And no wonder Westley had sounded so certain I would be there.
Thatcher must have noticed the shift in my expression. He leaned in, his voice low.
“What’s wrong?”
I glanced at him. “Why didn’t you tell me this was a Ferraro event?”
A faint smile touched his lips as he admitted, without a hint of shame, “If I had, you might not have come with me. And where would that have left me for a date?”
For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond.
We had barely been there a few minutes when a group of business partners pulled Thatcher away.
He gave my hand a light squeeze.
“Don’t wander off. I’ll be right back.”
I nodded and found a quiet corner to sit.
Not far away, a few elegantly dressed women were chatting.
Their voices were low, but in a lull in the music, their words carried.
“Did you hear? This is supposed to be an anniversary dinner, but the Ferraros are really just trying to find Westley a suitable wife.”
“Find one? What’s the point? With his childhood sweetheart Sofia still in the picture, any woman who marries into that family is just asking for misery.”
“He can’t hold down a relationship anyway. Even Brielle Pierce, who was with him for all those years, still…”
The gossip grated on my nerves.
I stood and slipped out of the main ballroom, following a quiet corridor that led to an outdoor terrace.
As I rounded a corner, a voice drifted down from the second-floor balcony above.
It was Westley.
He was speaking in a low, furious tone.
“I said I’m not getting married. That’s your plan, not mine. Don’t drag me into it.”
After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again. “If I’m going to marry anyone, it’s going to be Brielle.”
My steps faltered.
But my heart didn’t so much as flutter. I just felt a wave of weary absurdity.