Chapter Thirty-Five
Beverly
“Why is Miss Jenny’s strawberry cake so delicious?” Madison sighs.
“Because she makes it with love,” I reply. I watch my sister lick the pink frosting off her fork prongs and smile.
We’ve fallen into a sweet rhythm being neighbors, the two of us becoming even closer since I packed up and moved to Heartsboro.
She’s been a godsend, giving me motherly advice and helping me in those first few weeks getting Roman acclimated to his new surroundings and the East Coast time change.
She was also instrumental in helping me plan my wedding. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
I look down at my precious adopted son, the cup of love in my soul overflowing. He’s sound asleep in my arms, the excitement from his birthday party wearing him out.
Maddy sets her fork down and leans back in her chair. “Will you look at those two over there?”
I angle my head so I can get a good look at George. He has Joey in his arms, and he’s dancing to the beat of a yacht-rock song under the glowing lanterns in the trees. My smile is immediate. “You should go join them.”
Madison wipes her lips with a napkin and rises from her chair. “I think I will.”
We celebrated Joey’s one-year birthday two weeks earlier with a field trip to the Georgia Aquarium. We’d thought about planning a double-party but realized each boy deserved his own. After all, it’s their first.
I’m rocking ever-so-slightly in my chair while I watch my sister dance with her little family, my fingers tenderly running back and forth across Roman's head. I notice George’s smile soften, his lips moving as if he’s saying something tender and private to my sister.
It feels like I shouldn’t be watching them and I shift my focus to Roman.
I’m thrilled his one-year birthday party was a success.
He enjoyed all the books with their brightly-colored, thick pages, but I think he loved the crinkly wrapping paper and gift bows even more.
The bubble machine mesmerized him, and the smash cake served its purpose.
Roman completely demolished it while we all laughed and took pictures.
I’m certain he has remnants of pink frosting residue hiding behind his ears.
“Hey,” Ridge whispers. His voice is low and rich, like it’s covered in honey. “They’re playing our song.”
I smile at my husband as he helps me up and out of my chair with our sleeping son in my arms. We join George and Maddy on the makeshift grassy dance floor and sway to the Christopher Cross tune as our local friends look on.
I can’t help but think back to that night last fall when Ridge asked me to dance for the first time in my kitchen. It seems like ages ago.
“Are you happy?” he asks.
I look at his handsome features, not sure how I can put into words how happy I truly am in this time and space. All of my wildest dreams have come true. “Totally happy.”
But there was a time not too long ago, watching our story unfold in entertainment news, that I wasn’t so happy.
I remember the tabloid magazine covers after Whitney went to rehab, with countless photos of Ridge and I taken without our permission.
They made us out to be the bad guys, and it caught me off guard.
Thankfully, I was struck by something deeper when I first saw those awful photographs.
I could still see our spark and how beautifully complicated it all was during those dark times.
Back then, it wasn’t a fairy tale. Oh no.
It was hard. Messy. Human. Tender, even in the darkness. Still, we never gave up on each other.
The critics and the public told us we’d never make it, and maybe that’s what made us so captivating as a couple.
When I used to joke about finding love with a celebrity while being “just a suburban kindergarten teacher from the South,” I could hear a hint of disbelief in my voice.
Months later, I still don’t fully understand how it all happened. But it did.
I found true love. I found a man who could be my Prince Charming. I guess miracles really do happen.
Even when I discovered Ridge had an illegitimate son, I was never bitter.
That’s the part I’m most proud of. And here we are now in a committed, loving marriage, co-parenting Roman with grace.
Every time that precious baby boy calls me “mama,” my heart overflows with love.
I never knew raising a child would be part of my fairy tale, and now, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
I don’t see Ridge as a Hollywood icon at all.
I see him as a man who loves fiercely. A man who gives his all.
A man letting go of his past mistakes with dignity.
There’s beauty in embracing the parts of love that are hard to wrap your head around.
And now that we’ve turned the page, we seem to be navigating this path just fine.
I’m glad I didn’t cave to the naysayers.
I’m glad I saved my virtue for the man of my dreams. He’s mature and confident, rugged and strong.
Everything about him exudes masculinity.
How he held me on our wedding night so closely I could feel his heartbeat, my passion for him so immense I felt like my body couldn’t contain it.
And every time we’ve been together since has been nothing less than incredible.
Our love is never hurried or frantic. Forced or submissive.
Ridge moves with a casual grace that takes my breath away, the swoony sensation reverberating throughout my body whenever I think about it.
I want to protect whatever that feeling is because it’s sacred.
Swaying in the arms of my beautiful husband with his spiced scent of cedar and citrus makes the air around me feel warmer. The combination of his smell and the heat emanating from his skin soothes me. Instinctively, I nuzzle closer to his neck, careful not to awaken Roman.
Ridge is more than my husband. He’s my best friend.
He’s new traditions and familiarity. He’s homemade banana bread and coffee with cream.
He’s sunflowers in the sticky summer heat.
He’s late-night poetry readings in bed while wearing silly reading glasses.
He’s a doting father who shows his son daily how much he adores his wife.
The relationship I have with Ridge has filled the empty places in my heart slowly, carefully, with his easy smile and gentle love.
He traces the swell of my cheek with his thumb. I want to bottle up this moment, his hard body protecting Roman between us, the sounds of music and friends’ laughter echoing into the night. Leaves in the trees rustling in the slight breeze. The scurry of nocturnal animals.
“How lucky are we to get to spend the rest of our sunsets together?” I whisper, staring up at him.
His smile is immediate. “Like I’ve said before, be careful with that look you give Mrs. Wilson. It steals heartbeats.” He turns me in a slow circle as the song ends.
Across the meadow, the sun sinks into a sunflower glow. Seriously, I’m living in my very own romance novel now. And Ridge Wilson will always be my leading man.
THE END