Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Ridge
Those first few moments holding Roman in my arms are filled with utter emotional chaos.
I’m overwhelmed with a rush of profound love mixed with confusion and guilt for not being there for him since the beginning.
I’ve been too focused and afraid to accept that he’s mine.
And now, looking at him sound asleep in my arms with his perfect face and rosebud lips, all I can see is perfection.
My son is the epitome of faultlessness.
I know our bond will grow stronger the more time I spend with him.
I think I’m ready for that now. Roman is beautiful and I’m lucky to have him.
Still, I’m immediately bombarded with a strong sense of responsibility for this little guy.
He needs me in his life—he needs me to help take care of him.
Once the initial shock wears off, I’ll start to separate my emotions and solely focus on how I can help him moving forward.
“You’re a natural,” Whitney compliments.
I look right at her for confirmation, my voice croaking in my throat. “You think so?”
She laughs. “Yeah, Didge. I know so.”
The old nickname she pegged me with while we were shooting our movie together causes me to flinch.
I’m rattled with images filling my mind of the last night we were together, partying and dancing the night away.
It’s hard to believe I haven’t laid eyes on this woman since the night Roman was conceived.
Back then, I should’ve known better. It was one mistake, right?
A reflection of my unmet needs, or a temporary lapse in good judgment.
But in hindsight, how was I to know our one-night stand would turn into this? An innocent baby in my arms. My descendant. My child. My son.
I have a son.
Staring into his face, I know he’s not a mistake.
He’s a miracle, even if his birth was the product of a feral night neither of us planned on.
I know I need to make amends. I need to apologize and repair my relationship with his mother.
We need to find a way to raise our child together in the very best way possible.
“I’m… sorry, Whitney.”
“Sorry for what?”
“I’m sorry for not being there for you and Roman from the beginning.”
She makes a raspberry sound with her lips and rises from the sofa, making a beeline for the bar cart.
I watch her pour a shot of brown liquor into a glass and toss it back without a care in the world.
My blood turns cold remembering the way Whitney used to party a source of contention while on set.
Now that she’s the mother of my child, it’s even more worrisome.
“You want some?” she asks Beverly.
My eyes dart to poor Beverly, who’s been sitting in the corner. She’s wide-eyed and polite, taking in this entire scene like an innocent patron at a movie theater watching a horror film unfold. I realize I shouldn’t have brought her here.
“No, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
She pours another glass and sips from this one, purposefully cozying up to me on the couch while Beverly watches from a distance.
I know precisely what Whitney’s up to. She’s posturing, claiming her territory.
Her behavior isn’t just a common animal strategy.
She’s a lioness using bold territoriality to minimize her competition.
Poor Beverly doesn’t stand a chance with her.
“You sure you should be indulging this time of the day?” I ask. “I mean, aren’t you breastfeeding?”
Whitney throws her head back and laughs. “No way. And have him destroy these beauties?” She presses a hand to her chest. “He’s bottle-fed. And don’t worry, I buy only the best formula for my little peanut.” She leans low and runs her nose along Roman’s soft head of hair.
“Mmmmm. So, Didge. How’s this gonna work?
Do we need to schedule another meeting with our lawyers to set some boundaries?
And have you thought about how we’re gonna tell the world?
I think it’d be cool to do one of those prime-time interviews.
You know, like the ones with Robin Roberts or Oprah asking the questions? ”
The way her dark eyes light up while talking about sharing our private lives with the world leaves me shuddering.
A lovechild between two Hollywood actors will definitely make the headlines, with the swarms of paparazzi ready and waiting for a sighting everywhere we go.
The thought makes me genuinely nauseous.
I shake my head. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay? We should definitely schedule a meeting with our lawyers and develop a solid game plan. My first priority is Roman and his safety. I want to be in his life, Whitney.”
“Finally,” she huffs. “And you’re going to pay child support, right?”
I’m not going to allow Whitney to back me up into a corner before I’ve had a chance to speak with legal counsel. Instead, I concentrate on Roman’s face, but I can tell he’s starting to wake up. His tiny face twists with unease as he works up a shocking cry. I’m startled, not sure what to do.
“I can take him, Mr. Wilson,” Mira suggests, coming to my rescue.
“Thank you.”
I watch the woman gently rock the boy in her arms, streams of sunlight shining down on the pair near the French doors. It’s then that I realize Mira isn’t part of the hotel staff. She’s Whitney’s nanny.
“Mind if I hold him?” Beverly asks, joining them in the shower of light. She looks like an angel, her sincere smile highlighting her face.
“Not at all. I’ll fix his bottle while you take him. I’ll be right back.” She hands Roman off to Beverly.
She shifts him over her shoulder, and I can hear her hum slightly under her breath, her motherly instincts calming him down in an instant. I’m mesmerized watching her. She’s the one who’s a natural.
“Babies are expensive, Didge. The diapers, formula, clothes, and having Mira full-time shouldn’t be all on me,” Whitney whines.
“And let’s not forget, my career has been negatively impacted by having your baby.
I mean, I’ve got nothing in the pipeline.
Nada. Zippo. My reputation has suffered while taking this break.
There’s been a huge decline in film role offers. You gotta help a baby mama out.”
I jerk my head to get a good look at the mother of my child.
She’s been made up for our meeting, her makeup professional and on point.
But I can see right through her: the hint of dark circles under her bloodshot eyes.
The day-drinking. Her lackadaisical attitude toward mothering.
The woman is more concerned about her career and the money I’ll cough up for Roman’s welfare.
She’s a mother for crying out loud. She’s the one who should’ve been ready to feed her baby, not the nanny.
That she’s fixated on a financial reward and a stint on prime-time television sends a cautionary signal to my brain.
Granted, I’m grateful Whitney went through with her pregnancy when she could have ended it without my knowledge.
And I’m glad she wants to co-parent this child with me and not without me.
I look over at Beverly again, and a melancholy thought crosses my mind.
It should’ve been her. Why couldn’t it have been with someone like Beverly? Lovely. Gorgeous. Pure-hearted, Beverly. Watching her with Roman, I know she’ll make an amazing mother someday. And I admit, it’s not fair for me to judge poor Whitney. She has her strengths too. Right?
Instead of comparing these two women, I need to shift my focus to my son’s needs. Instead of focusing on what I think I deserve, I need to consider what I can give.
“I can assure you, Roman will never go without.”
Whitney exhales a delighted sigh, her lips curling into a devious smile. She leans her head back against the sofa and downs the rest of her drink. Staring right at me, she holds up her fisted hand. I bump my knuckles against hers.
“I knew I could count on you, Didge.”
We’re interrupted by Mira entering the room with a bottle in her hand. “Here we are. I can take him now.”
Beverly looks at Mira and tilts her head. “May I feed him? Please? My sister has a son the same age as Roman. I know what I’m doing, I promise.”
Mira is surprised and looks over at Whitney for permission.
“Go ahead,” she says, dismissively waving them off.
Mira smiles. “Why don’t you sit with him outside on the terrace? I fed him out there earlier, and he seemed to enjoy the nature sounds.” She hands off the bottle.
Beverly beams. “Thank you.”
I watch her exit the suite in a rush of gladness. Mira disappears into the bedroom, leaving Whitney and me alone on the couch. She rests her head on my shoulder, and I tense.
“I knew you’d come around, Didge. I just knew it.” She exhales another deep breath of bourbon-scented air. “So… tell me about Beverly. Is she a visiting cousin?”
I clear my throat. “Uh, no. I met her in Atlanta while filming at her school.”
Whitney sits up with interest. “Her school?”
“Yes. She’s a kindergarten teacher.”
Whitney makes a face and looks right at me. “You invited a kindergarten teacher to LA? Why?”
I stand and walk over to the open terrace door and gaze at Beverly feeding my son. They look serene and perfectly content together, her soft coos and the way she gently strokes his cheek while he’s staring up at her making me weak in the knees.
I look over my shoulder at Whitney who’s sitting cross-legged on the sofa waiting for my reply. She’s scowling, and I know she’s not going to like what I have to say. I pull the terrace door closed and walk to the middle of the room.
“I invited Beverly to LA because I like spending time with her, okay? It’s her fall break, and she’s off for the week.”
“No way,” she snickers. “You’re dating a kindergarten teacher?” One of her eyebrows arches high on her forehead, her eyes sparkling with scheming humor. I’ve seen that look before.
I plant my hands on my hips. “Yes, I am.”
Whitney stares at me for a beat as if letting my comment register. And then she throws her head back and howls with laughter.
“Oh, Didge. Have the paparazzi gotten a whiff of this? My God, you know it will never work. An A-list Hollywood actor with a redneck kindergarten teacher? Besides, you know you can’t take Roman cross-country to visit her in Atlanta.
And she gets what, maybe eight weeks off in the summer?
I’m sorry, but you need to nip this in the bud if we’re going to have any kind of co-parenting relationship moving forward. ”
I grit my teeth, knowing battle lines have been drawn. “We’ll see about that.”