Westley You Are Late Chapter 01
The day Westley ditched me to fly to St. Barts with Sofia after her latest breakup, I told him we were done.
He didn’t even look up from his phone, his thumbs still moving over a text to her.
“Do what you want.”
For five years, he’d been so sure I would never leave him.
He figured it was just another tantrum, another desperate bid for his attention.
A year later.
The night Westley got back to New York, his friends threw him a welcome-home party.
Someone laughed, slapping him on the back. “You’re one to keep a secret, man. Getting married yesterday and only telling us now?”
Westley glanced up from his drink.
“Who got married?”
“You and Brielle.”
The guy held up his phone, my Instagram feed on the screen.
“Look, she even posted the marriage certificate.”
Another guy next to him frowned. “I picked Westley up from JFK last night. He was on a plane all day. How could he have gotten married?”
…
The words hung in the air, and the suite fell silent.
Westley sat in the center of the sofa, long legs crossed, his face half-swallowed by the shadows.
After a long moment, he finally spoke.
“Give me a break. Ever heard of Photoshop?”
Someone immediately jumped in.
“Exactly. That has to be it. Brielle heard you were back and faked the post to mess with you.”
“You were gone for a year. It’s normal for her to still be pissed.”
“Well, it’s easy enough to find out if it’s fake. Call her. Get her over here. Say a few nice things, and she’ll drop the act.”
When Leo called, I was in the middle of addressing wedding invitations.
“Brielle, Westley’s back. He’s at the Gansevoort. Come over.”
“It’s late,” I said. “I’m not coming.”
Leo paused.
“It’s Westley . You don’t want to see him?”
The question wasn’t surprising.
Once, if Westley was somewhere, I was right there with him.
They all used to say I was his shadow.
But that was a year ago.
“I’m not coming. Tell him I said welcome back.”
Leo’s annoyance crackled over the line.
“It’s only been a year. Are you really going to hold this grudge?”
“Besides, Westley’s back now. If he and Sofia were serious, do you think you’d have the chance to be with him?”
I’d heard it all before.
They all said I was jealous.
“Westley’s had plenty of girlfriends. You’re the biggest headache.”
“Everyone else accepts Sofia. Why can’t you?”
“If the Pierce name wasn’t such a good match for the Ferraros, you think he would’ve stayed with you for five years?”
Even Westley had said it. “Be good. Stop making trouble. It won’t do you any good.”
So when he chased Sofia overseas again, I didn’t say a word.
Later, I got married, just as my family wanted.
On the other end of the line, Leo said my name again.
“Brielle, are you really going to keep this up with Westley? Don’t forget, he already said last time was the last time he was going to humor you.”
By last time, he meant a year ago.
That night, Sofia had been dumped.
At midnight, she’d shown up at our apartment building, buzzing our unit over and over.
When no one answered, she just sat on the steps and cried.
Westley and I had just gotten into bed. Her sobbing sliced right through the quiet.
He pulled away from me and reached for his robe.
“I’m going to check on her.”
Clutching the sheets, I asked, “Are you coming back tonight?”
“I don’t know. We’ll see.”
I didn’t say anything.
He finished dressing, then glanced back at me.
“You’re not mad?”
Any other time, I would have been furious.
But that night, I just shook my head.
“No.”
Westley looked like he wanted to say more, but Sofia’s wails from the street grew louder.
He tossed a quick, “I’ll be back soon,” over his shoulder.
The door had barely opened before I heard his voice drift up from the street.
“It’s just a breakup. What’s all this crying? I’ll deal with him for you.”
He didn’t come back that night.
He also forgot he’d promised to go with me to the hospital the next day to get my test results.
The next morning, I went alone.
I’d figured it would be routine—pick up some papers and go.
Instead, the doctor pointed to a shadow on the scan and told me something was growing in my brain.
“Brain surgery is risky. But without it, you have two years, at most.”
The hallway buzzed with people moving past me.
I leaned against the cool wall, the thin report in my hand, my fingers so cold they were numb.
I pulled up Westley’s name in my contacts and just stared at it.
Before I could decide what to say, my phone rang.