Blindsided by Love: The Bold and the Beautiful

by Hilary Rose

  “Ridge, I—”

  “Don’t even think about saying, ‘I can explain.’”

  “Fine,” she said. “How’s this then: I love you.”

  Caroline let her declaration hang in the air for several seconds, her heart thumping in her chest with each and every ticking of the antique clock on the wall. When there was virtually no response from him, not even a flicker of recognition, she pressed on. “That’s what’s missing from the conversation on the recorder, Ridge. I told Eric I’d fallen in love with you. I don’t know exactly when my feelings for you turned into love—maybe it was all the way back in New York when I ran into you at Luc’s opening—but I went from thinking you were a judgmental, self-important tyrant to dreaming about the future we could have together, the future we will have together, because you love me too. I know you do.”

  He’d removed his glasses by this time and when he looked at her, it wasn’t with love. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said coldly. “I don’t love easily or often, contrary to popular belief. And I sure as hell don’t love if I don’t trust.”

  “Wasn’t that you who trusted me to shave your baby-soft face tonight?” Caroline lightened her tone, hoping he’d flash back to how playful it had been between them in his bathroom, how natural and easy, how right.

  “Honey, I wouldn’t trust you to tie the laces on my shoes.”

  “Ridge.” She sighed. “Fine, so it sounded to you as if Eric and I were tricking you somehow. We weren’t. Rick blew this whole thing out of proportion.”

  “Rick’s an ass, but it wasn’t his voice on that recorder.”

  “I’m just saying that Eric was concerned about you. As for me, well, that day in your office when you asked me what I wanted out of life, what my goals were, my interests outside of fashion … No one had ever asked me those questions and I began to look at you in a whole new way. You were so generous and kind to ask me about myself. I thought that if I spent time with you outside the office exploring the interests we talked about, it might be beneficial for both of us. Is that so unforgivable?”

  “What’s unforgivable is that you and Dad view me as someone to be pitied.”

  “What?” Caroline bolted out of the chair, flung her arms around Ridge’s shoulders and buried her head in the curve of his neck. “You couldn’t be more wrong. You’re a strong, gifted, ridiculously attractive man who owns me, body and soul. The last thing I feel for you is pity.”

  Ridge shook his head. “You left out blind on that list of adjectives.”

  Caroline picked up her head so she could look into his face, look deeply into his eyes, the eyes that caused him so much pain. Still holding onto his shoulders as if to make sure he didn’t run off, she said, “If you’d been able to listen to the rest of the recording, you would have heard Eric ask me if I could handle it if your sight didn’t come back. I didn’t hesitate, Ridge. I said yes unequivocally and I explained how I knew I could handle it. I love you. I don’t think of you as impaired or defective or any less of a man. I happen to believe your sight will come back, but even if it doesn’t, I’m here for the long haul and I told Eric that. He’ll confirm it.”

  “Sure he will. He’s your partner in crime. But the proof isn’t on the recorder, as you point out, so we’ll never really know. Stupid batteries, huh?”

  Caroline heaved a defeated sigh, removed her hands from his shoulders and stood before him. “Please don’t do this. Don’t shut down on me again.”

  *

  Shut down on her? If she only knew, Ridge thought with a heavy heart. He yearned to pick her up in his arms and carry her back upstairs and make love to her over and over until dawn. All he wanted was her, every waking moment of the day and night and in his dreams too. She’d done precisely what she’d set out to do and brought back his appetite for life, and he was more than grateful. He was in love with her, crazy in love with her. That was the insurmountable problem, not what she and his father did or said. Once he got past the fact that it was Rick who had brought the recorder to the house like a dog with a bone, Rick who had been trying to stick it to him as he always did, Ridge realized that she and his father were only trying to help him and the company, and their motives were pure.

  No, the problem wasn’t that she wanted to help him. The problem was that she thought he needed help. He did love her and he believed she loved him too, but there was no getting around the reality that he was blind. Not completely blind anymore, but blind enough to destroy a relationship. He’d never been the one who needed rescuing and the idea was utterly foreign to him, repellent to him. He was the one his family looked to for rescuing, not the other way around. He’d rescued RJ, hadn’t he? That was his role. He was Ridge Forrester, the guy everybody could depend on, lean on, the guy they called in a crisis. Now? Now he was the guy who needed a waiter from the Bel Air Hotel to come to the house and make him a sandwich.

  I vowed I’d never be a burden to her, Ridge reminded himself even as he was sorely tempted to tell his beautiful, smart, funny Caro how he really felt about her, how much he loved her. He couldn’t. She was young and vivacious, the girl who enjoyed dressing up and going to parties and having fun. She didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a broken man, let alone one with sight loss, and why should she? No, she deserved someone who embraced life as ferociously as she did. He was no longer the hero who could rescue her from a wildfire, but he could still be the man who stepped aside because it was best for her. He would not be her burden. And the sooner he cut the cord the better.

  “I think you should leave, Caroline.”

  “You’re tired,” she said, nodding. “It’s been a long day, so get some sleep. We’ve got the rehearsal tomorrow morning. I’ll be overseeing the models while they’re trying on the—”

  “No, I mean leave LA,” he interrupted, not wanting to prolong the explanation or the agony of the goodbye. “Thomas can take over your work on the fashion show from here on. Your services at Forrester Creations are no longer required. I’ll make the jet available as soon as it’s convenient for you to pack your things and check out of your hotel.”

  Caroline’s jaw dropped. “Are you firing me, Ridge?”

  “I’m letting you go,” he said, his words weighted with the double meaning only he could understand.

  She stood there openmouthed, eyes glistening. She wiped away the tears as they slipped down her cheeks and tossed her hair back off her shoulders. She reached for her purse on the chair, pulled out her phone and texted her limo driver to pick her up.

  “Memo to you, Ridge,” she said crisply after the driver texted back that he was already outside waiting for her. “I finish what I start. So yes, I’ll go back to New York, but not until the fundraiser’s over. I’ll leave right after the last model walks down the runway. Is that soon enough for you?”

  Ridge nodded, unable to speak for fear of letting her hear the catch in his voice.

  “Just one thing before I go,” she said, edging slowly out of the room, out of his house, out of his whole world. “You’re the one who’s constantly telling me that the key to enjoying life to the fullest is using all our senses, right?”

  Ridge didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. So he let her speak, knowing she wouldn’t leave without stating her opinion in no uncertain terms, the way she always did.

  “You used your sense of taste when we took the trip to East LA and stopped at every food truck; your sense of smell too,” she went on. “You used your sense of hearing when we went to the symphony. You used your sense of touch when we made love upstairs.” She didn’t bother to hide the single tear that escaped. “Since you’re so literary and well read, you must have heard the proverb, ‘There are none so blind as those who will not see.’ It applies here, Ridge. You keep talking about being pitied. But if you ask me, the only person who pities you is you.”

  She turned on her heel and walked out.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Caroline used to live for fashion shows at Forrester Cre
ations. While others in the industry often wilted under the myriad of details involved in putting on a flawless show or suffered acute anxiety at the thought of all the fashionistas, retail buyers and unforgiving media scrutinizing their designs, she adored the high-octane, adrenaline-charged atmosphere and she had a knack for remaining cool, calm and thoroughly in command.

  The fashion show for the fundraiser to honor Stephanie Forrester and raise money for cancer research was no different. Despite the fact that she hadn’t slept or eaten, that her body felt like an empty vessel, that her heart was broken, that she’d packed her bags and stored them at the Beverly Wilshire so her limo driver could swing by the hotel after the show and pick them up on their way to the airport for her red-eye flight back to New York, Caroline Spencer threw herself into her work with her customary focus and determination.

  “Her hair should be up,” she told Thomas, nodding at one of the models as they stood in the large dressing room amid a maelstrom of seamstresses, makeup artists and hair stylists. “We need to see the high neckline of the dress, not bury it under a pile of curls.” The beaded silk gown with the crystal broach was one of the two designs she and Ridge had sparred over when they began their collaboration, the sketch of his that she’d dubbed matronly. She had suggested—and he had conceded—that they should leave the long sleeves and neckline as they were but open up two hip-hugging side panels to create a peek-a-boo look—sexy but still classic and elegant.

  “Really glad you caught that,” said Thomas, who was trying hard to be his father’s eyes for the event and looking a little overwhelmed by it all. “We’re very lucky you came back here, Caroline. With you working side by side with Dad, we won’t have to worry about the couture line going forward.”

  Caroline smiled but didn’t correct him. No one seemed to know that Ridge had terminated her employment at Forrester Creations. Not Hope, not Donna, not even Pam, who could be absentminded but kept her ear to the ground for the latest gossip. In fact, Pam had taken Caroline aside in the dressing room earlier, steering her over to a relatively quiet corner.

  “I’m sorry your engagement to Rick is off,” she’d whispered, as if the information were top secret, as if there really had been an engagement. “I happened to hear it on the recorder when I was transcribing Eric’s speech, about how you told him there was too much baggage between you and Rick.” She’d given herself a hard rap on the head with her knuckles. “I was such a dimwit, leaving that thing at Eric’s. I guess I also forgot to hit stop. I hope you don’t mind that I listened to everything.” She’d sighed. “The battery must have run out so I missed the very end, but from what I heard, you kind of spilled your guts, girlfriend.

  “Anyway,” said Pam, “I’m sure Rick’s disappointed but he kind of made his own bed, so to speak.”

  “Yes, it’s a shame,” Caroline had replied in a monotone. “It just wasn’t meant to be this time.” Her words had sounded hollow, even to her, but they were the best she could do. And she was grateful that Pam left it at that, without even mentioning Ridge. Whether his aunt would keep the information to herself in the long run was out of her control. Caroline squirmed. The thought of Pam dissecting her conversation with Eric that day—her private conversation—was unsettling.

  For his part, Rick acted quickly on his disappointment: he brought Maya to the office the day of the fundraiser. Apparently, she was back in LA, and she was suddenly his date for the event. If he intended to rub salt into Caroline’s wounds, he didn’t succeed—she actually felt relieved at the sight of the two of them together. She had truly loved Rick when they were married, and now she hoped he would find peace and stability in his life. Maybe her high expectations for him hadn’t been a source of support but rather a source of pressure and stress and maybe she bore some of the responsibility for the problems in their relationship. Maybe Maya was simply a better fit for him. Maya looked up to him, didn’t have aspirations of being his business partner, accepted him for who he was. Maybe it was the two of them who belonged together—a realization that liberated Caroline. What’s more, Eric needn’t have worried about his sons going to war over her: neither of them wanted her now. The irony wasn’t lost on her.

  Seeing Ridge at the office was an entirely different story. It wounded Caroline right to her core. Avoiding him was impossible, but she’d made a conscious effort to limit their interactions as much as she could. He’d looked drawn at the meeting he’d scheduled for early that morning with the members of the fundraiser team, his complexion pallid, his speech slow and labored. Had he lain awake all night thinking about her? Replaying what was on the recorder? Regretting his reaction? Wishing she would ignore his edict to leave Forrester Creations, to leave him? Was he as desperate to be with her as she was to be with him, but too proud to admit it? Or had he merely been worried about the fundraiser and how their sneak preview of the couture spring collection would be received? Was it business that kept him tossing and turning, particularly after hearing Eric express his concern about the skittish buyers? She would never know, because he’d dismissed everybody as soon as the meeting was over, including her, and didn’t emerge from his office until the preparations for the fashion show were well underway and there wasn’t time for anything except getting the models dressed and ready.

  It was only after he had changed into his tuxedo minutes before the fundraiser was to begin that she allowed herself to approach him. She had slipped into the same black dress she’d worn at Luc’s opening; the symmetry had seemed perfect somehow. Ridge looked dashing in his tux, even with his obvious lassitude, and she decided to tell him so.

  “Losing the beard was a good move, and whoever wielded the razor last week knew what they were doing,” she said cheerily, as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  He smiled ruefully. “Yes, she did.” He adjusted his glasses and regarded her. “I’m sure you look pretty great yourself.”

  “I do, as a matter of fact. You told me so the last time I wore this dress. It’s a Forrester Creations original, the black one with the sheer lace bodice. I wore it in New York when your shirt ran into my glass of champagne.”

  “Well, I’d better find Thomas,” he said. “Or let Thomas find me. He’s taking me down to the ballroom so I can greet the guests, do the things CEOs do.”

  “I think the fashion show will be a huge success,” she chirped, trying to prolong the conversation for just another moment, clinging to the sliver of hope that she could get him to change his mind and ask her to stay.

  “Thanks to you,” said Ridge. He reached for her hand, gripping it in a firm, professional-grade handshake and pumping it vigorously, as if he were closing a deal.

  “Hey, anytime,” she said, her heart sinking with the finality of their parting. “You know … if you need designs … or whatever … feel free to let me know.” God, she sounded like some mindless, language-challenged teenager.

  There was an awkward silence until a beaming Thomas materialized, the spitting image of his father in an identical tuxedo. “Ready, Dad?”

  “Ready, son,” said Ridge.

  Thomas held his father’s elbow as the CEO and his heir apparent headed slowly in the direction of the ballroom.

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry, Caroline admonished herself, watching them walk away, a lump the size of a grapefruit forming in the back of her throat. If he looks back, even for a split second, it means he still loves you, she thought, and willed Ridge to do just that, to turn his head so he could catch one last glimpse of her.

  She waited, her pulse quickening. Do it, Ridge. Show me.

  But he didn’t. He and Thomas continued down the hall to the ballroom. And then, as if self-correcting an impolite oversight, it was Thomas who glanced back over his shoulder and called out to her with an enthusiastic wave: “Later, Caroline!”

  There would be no later, not for her and Ridge, Caroline thought with a heavy sorrow that caused her whole body to slump.

  Now, while she monitored e
very detail of the fashion show from her perch to the left of the stage that had been festooned with flowers, she watched the model wearing Ridge’s showstopper, the colorful print gown that was inspired by a trip to the tropics, strut down the runway to close the show to thunderous applause. The designs were a hit without a doubt, and the positive buzz about Forrester Creations would spread all over the internet within the hour. The crowd chanted Ridge’s name, demanding that he take a bow, which he did as every single one of the two hundred guests rose to their feet in appreciation. Caroline applauded too, caught up in the moment, her heart swelling with pride for the man who had managed to honor his mother’s memory, raise money for a worthy cause and promote his company—all despite his obvious challenges.

  Okay, that’s enough, Caroline reminded herself. Time to go home.

  *

  “I can’t stand places like this,” said Gigi as she and Caroline mingled among the other revelers attending the cocktail party. It was the opening of the Wild Boar, a new restaurant that was supposed to be the next hip place for carnivores with either generous corporate expense accounts or healthy trust funds. It was decorated to resemble a hunting lodge with an enormous stone fireplace, tables made out of tree trunks, and walls covered with mounted deer heads. Or were they moose heads? “They should call it the Wild Bore. It’s like an amusement park without the amusement. Have you ever met such dull people?”

  “No,” Caroline agreed. The women at the party prattled on about their nanny problems and their gluten sensitivities and their frustration over the congested streets of Manhattan that were making them late for Pilates, acupuncture and yoga. As for the men, they discussed money: how they made theirs and how their wives spent entirely too much of it.