Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Beverly
I’m struck by how articulate and self-conscious Ridge is as he talks.
This has been eating at him for months, and I don’t blame him for being scared.
I would be too. His confession feels intimate and raw.
Everything about his body language, his eyes, and his husky voice opens him up in a way that breaks my heart.
I’m glad he trusts me enough to tell me the truth. Glad he’s confided in me.
Still, I can’t help but wonder who his baby mama is…
Our dinner conversation in the tiny Italian restaurant instantly changes the way I view the film industry and Ridge.
Not everything is bright lights and wealthy celebrities.
It’s a reminder that behind every movie premiere, every magazine cover, every photo opportunity, there’s a person who might be quietly drowning.
I will never forget the way his voice cracked when he said, “I’m scared.” And still, he managed a tiny smile.
“So, that’s it. That’s my secret. Kind of crazy, huh? I’ll bet you didn’t see that coming.” He’s trying to keep the vibe lighthearted. But I can tell he’s struggling.
“Would you like my opinion as an outsider looking in?” I ask.
“Please.” He’s eager, his wide eyes bright with hope among the flickering candlelight.
I shift in my seat, determined to make a point. “Think of your life as a book, Ridge. Or better yet, like one of your scripts.”
He seems confused. “Okay?”
“Hear me out. Hopefully this will all make sense when I’m finished.” I clear my throat. “You can’t… skip chapters or scenes in your life. That’s not how it works. Life is messy and joyful, full of incredible highs and the lowest of lows. Life is full of surprises.”
“I’ll say,” he grunts, throwing back the last of his wine.
“You have to read every line and meet every character in your story because that’s the way things were written. Granted, there will be pages you won’t enjoy, and some might even make you angry or scared. But then, lo and behold, you’ll have chapters you’ll never want to put down.”
“Like our chapter.” He stares right at me, the intensity of his gaze ardent. Devoted.
“Yes. Like ours.” I practically combust knowing he considers me a chapter he doesn’t want to put down.
“Your story is beautiful, Ridge. You’ve got to keep going.
And you need to meet your son. What an incredible blessing to have a son.
” My eyes well with tears remembering the moment my sister held her precious baby boy in her arms for the very first time.
Ridge turns misty-eyed and bows his head. “Will you go with me?” he whispers.
I’m taken aback and stutter. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
When he looks up, I can see the glimmer of tears shimmering in his eyes.
And even though this man is a highly sought-after, award-winning actor, I know he’s not performing in this moment.
This is Ridge Wilson, the man. Raw. Totally transparent with nothing to hide.
Embracing himself with his shadows and his light.
And he’s asking me for support.
Who am I to deny him? I’m a nobody compared to him. A suburban kindergarten teacher from Atlanta with nothing extraordinary to offer but myself.
I’m humbled and honored by his request. I take a deep breath and sit a little taller. “Of course I’ll go with you.”
***
The next morning, Ridge quietly makes arrangements to meet his son at the Hotel Bel-Air in Los Angeles.
I don’t have a clue who he spoke to, as Arthur has yet to learn about Ridge’s father status.
But I could hear him agreeing with whoever was on the other line that it was time and how sorry he was for dragging this out.
And he still hasn’t told me his baby mama’s name.
Hal drove us after lunch, the coastline whizzing by in ocean blues and green palm fronds.
I have no idea what to expect when we arrive at the luxurious property known for its celebrity history of guests, including Marilyn Monroe, Elizabeth Taylor, Robert Redford, and even Prince Charles.
All I know is how pensive and quiet Ridge is in the backseat as he grips my hand in silence.
The lush grounds and tropical trees set against the backdrop of the signature pink hotel are gorgeous, and the privacy and seclusion make it a popular destination for the rich and famous seeking discretion.
When we finally arrive, there is no roar or fanfare from awaiting crowds or paparazzi.
Just birdsongs and a quiet lake with gliding swans.
It’s otherworldly.
As the car slowly comes to a halt, Ridge shifts in his seat to face me. “Before we go inside, it’s only fair that I tell you who the mother of my son is, so you’re not completely caught off guard.”
I blink back at him, my heart racing. “Okay. Spill it.”
“It’s Whitney Smith.”
Before I can respond, a bellman opens the car door. Ridge steps out and offers me his hand. I hold on for dear life, Whitney’s name and face putting my mind into overdrive. I know exactly who he’s talking about, but for some reason, I can’t recall any of her movies.
We follow a young Asian woman, who introduces herself as Mira. She escorts us through a long corridor and up a private elevator to a two-bedroom suite. She knocks twice before the door flies open with a flourish.
“Ridge?”
“Whitney,” he states flatly.
My mind finally connects the dots. Ridge had told me the night before that the mother of his child was once a high-profile actress.
What he didn’t tell me was that this woman was his leading lady in his last blockbuster film.
The same dark-haired, tattooed beauty whose face has appeared on the cover of my People magazine on more than one occasion because of her bad-girl image in Hollywood.
Apparently, she’s challenging to work with and has had more than one stint in rehab.
And now, here she is, standing right in front of me.
Whitney Smith, all five foot nine of her, covered in bangles and piercings, and intricate flower tattoos running up and down her arms. My mouth gapes at the sight of her.
She’s scary and stunning all at once, and I’m starstruck.
My mind flashes with a thought. Whitney Smith can’t be the mother of Ridge’s son.
There’s no way. She’s not even his type.
Or is she?
“Come in.” She opens the door wide, and Ridge gestures with his hand for me to walk in first.
“Whitney, this is Beverly Adler.”
I stop and thrust my arm out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I… I just love your work.”
Whitney scowls and limply shakes my hand. “You already hired a nanny?” she asks him.
I feel like a fool and look toward Ridge to rescue me.
“No. Beverly is my friend visiting from Atlanta. I thought it would be okay if she came with me today. You know, for moral support?”
I’m standing in between these two Neanderthals bobbing my head back and forth like I’m at a tennis match. The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. They obviously have a ton of unsettled business.
I clear my throat. “Perhaps I should wait in the lobby if that would make you feel more comfortable?” I force myself to look up into Whitney’s face. She’s clearly had work done, her perfect nose and contoured cheeks reminding me of a high-class supermodel.
“I can take Miss Adler downstairs if you’d like,” Mira adds.
Whitney waves us all off and ambles into the empty sitting room. A warm breeze flows through the open French doors, the sheer luxury of the hotel on full display. What am I doing here?
“No, it’s fine. Beverly, you’re fine. Roman is down for his nap. I’ll go get him in a minute.”
“Roman?” Ridge questions. “You named him, Roman?”
“Yeah. Ro for short.”
Whitney stands a little taller in her bare feet, if that’s even possible, her imposing stance shutting Ridge down in an instant.
She’s wearing a long, flowery maxi-dress with no bra.
Her raven hair is a thick mass twisted into the perfect messy bun, with errant pieces framing her face, and large hoop earrings dangle from her multi-pierced ears.
Her vibe is very Bohemian in a rock-and-roll kind of way.
“Why don’t I just go get him now? I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the bedroom with Mira following closely behind.
I look up at Ridge. His jaw is clenched, and a sheen of nervous perspiration dots his forehead.
“You’ve got this,” I reassure in a whisper. “But you could’ve told me earlier that the mother of your child is Whitney Smith. I can hardly process this on the fly.”
He exhales a breath of air. “I’m sorry. I thought it’d be too much after I’d just told you I have a son. To tell you the truth, it’s too much for me too. I’m so glad you’re here with me. I appreciate you coming. I’m shaking…”
“—Ridge?”
Our heads turn in unison to see a beaming Whitney slowly moving toward us with a sleeping baby in her arms. The tiny tot is swaddled in a blue blanket, his shock of dark hair smoothed back from his face. I can see Mira smiling from behind.
Ridge looks at me, his lips trembling.
“Go on,” I say, touching his shoulder. “It’s time to meet your son.” I offer him a reassuring smile.
He nods and slowly crosses to Whitney. A certain stillness settles over the room as he looks at Roman, his face twisting with pure emotion as he tries to keep it together.
“Ro, this is your daddy,” Whitney says softly, gently settling him into Ridge’s outstretched arms. He’s tender in his actions, Whitney reminding him to be careful with the baby’s head. They almost look like a famous Hollywood couple standing side by side with Roman in his arms.
Almost.
Ridge is the conservative boy next door, with his handsome good looks and charming personality.
Whitney has a wild-child aura, her history of partying and rehab the total opposite.
However, they now have a child together.
They are a couple—they’re parents. And their beautiful baby boy has reunited them back together again.
My heart squeezes knowing this is a pivotal moment in Ridge’s life. Watching him interact with his child makes me realize I shouldn’t be here for this. It’s a private matter between two superstars, and I’m way out of my league.
A baby changes everything.