Method

“No?” I tilt my head. “Well, that’s all I can see, feel, taste, and it’s bitter. It’s not going anywhere. You need to give me space.”

“Okay, just, please…don’t do anything. Don’t…” He can’t even say the words and we both break at the thought, our faces collectively crumbling. He hangs his head for an excruciating heartbeat, then looks over at me with remorse. “I’ll do anything.”

“You should have done anything then. But I wasn’t important enough, even after all we’ve built you couldn’t trust me.” Wiping my nose with my sleeve, burning tears escape as I glare over at him. “I’ve never made you feel that way. I would never hurt you that way…God, Lucas…just leave.”

“I’m drowning without you.” His voice rips, jagged and cutting, penetrating my aching chest. But it’s the anger that wins.

“No, you threw yourself in the deep end,” I reply lifelessly, “and you took me with

you.”

A shuddered breath leaves him, but I don’t acknowledge the hurt I’m causing. Resentment is navigating my every move and I’m letting it drive.

Reluctant resignation coats his tone. “Okay, okay. Just…please remember, Dame, remember.”

Agonizing heartbeats later, he starts his SUV and leaves, and I do too, determined to put some space between us I know he won’t allow. He’s conceded for now, but it’s only a matter of time before he comes back. In minutes, I’m on the highway, mind racing. He wants forgiveness, but I can’t find it sorting through his actions of the past few months. He wants mercy where he gave none. It’s hypocritical, and it infuriates me. We’ve become the sum of all my fears when going into this relationship and as much as I want to take some blame, anger keeps winning.

But this? I never saw this, I never thought him capable of hurting me to this degree. But it just goes to show what an amazing performer he is. I can’t even tell truth from fiction anymore. I’m not even sure how much of our story was a lie and that’s the thing that angers me most.

My husband is an expert chameleon. He slips into a newly colored skin with such ease, you’re blindsided by the completion of it and are only able to admire his new color briefly before he slips into another.

The first time he showed me one of his colors was the night we met. I’d been hired to steward at a star-studded dinner at a director’s house. It was a dinner & movie tribute to Francis Ford Coppola, and I’d been hired to pair his wines with the dishes served. Earlier that week I’d toured the legendary director’s winery, and by the time I left Geyserville, I had a vast knowledge of his selection. There would be a screening of his film Apocalypse Now in a large courtyard adjacent to the dining room after a six-course dinner.

Despite my mother’s best attempts to keep me away from the business, it was only a matter of time before my line of work intermixed with the industry. No average, blue-collar Joe can afford to throw these types of parties. Sommeliers weren’t in high demand, and I anxiously took almost every job offered.

I spent most of the night pouring wine while telling anecdotes and history about each selection. The first time I get an up-close view of Lucas, Marlon Brando is mid-tirade on the large screen spanning a good width of the courtyard as Lucas is spitting out a mouthful of pinot noir from Coppola’s Diamond collection into some shrubbery. While the majority of the party is rapt on the movie, sitting in the comfortable lounge chairs provided, Lucas is isolated in the back, leaning against a wall across from a small, free-standing bar, looking bored and mildly uncomfortable.

I have to fight laughter when I see him dispose of his wine and damn near go into hysterics when he cocks his head left and right before tossing the rest of the contents of his glass in the same direction. It takes everything I have to keep a straight face when I approach him, presenting him with a bottle of the wine he’d just tossed out like garbage. We’re covered in shadows, the flickering movie the only thing shedding light across our faces.

“You know, pinot grapes are really hard to grow,” I whisper as he eyes the wine in my hand, apprehension flitting a split-second over his features before it disappears, and he reluctantly holds his empty glass out to me. I’d been watching him for the better part of the night. He’d played it cool as new Hollywood, often stealing the room with his presence. I’m not the only woman having an impossible time taking my eyes off him dressed in a well-fitted Armani tuxedo and silky black tie. “They have thin skin and are disease prone.”

“I’m sorry, what?” he asks distractedly as he sloshes it around in his glass before taking a whiff, his eyes finally drifting up to meet mine.

“Not a fan of the pinot?” I ask, biting back a smile. It’s when our eyes hold that the air starts to thicken.

“I love wine,” he says, fixed in our stare a beat longer before his lips lift at the corners.

“Do you?” I ask, my insides coming to life. In our locked gaze, I notice he loses himself a little as well. Explorative eyes rake me, undressing me, and robbing my throat of any moisture. Utterly dazed, I hold my breath until he speaks.

“Have you been here all night?”

My smile widens as his grows and we drink in each other in the greenery-filled courtyard. The night breeze whispers over us and goose bumps erupt over my skin while our silent stare-off ensues. I’m in a black halter dress that hugs my curves and flows over my hips. It’s elegant and understated and the perfect dress for a night like this. My lips are colored merlot, just as fitting, but underneath his penetrating gaze, I feel naked and worshipped.

“Yes, I’ve been here all night.”

“Bullshit,” he counters, leaning in conspiratorially. “I would have noticed you.”

He sloshes his wine again, and I frown. “Do you know why you’re doing that?”

“Doing what?” he asks, gracing me with another breathtaking smile. I find myself stunned by the sight of it but manage to find words.

“Sloshing the wine around and murdering the bouquet?”

“I’m not sloshing.”

“You’re sloshing. Now,” I say, taking his glass and gently demonstrating. “Swirling the glass draws oxygen into the wine to offset the tannic acids which make it taste dry.” I hand the glass back to him. “Now take a sip and let it briefly rest on your tongue before swallowing.”

Never taking his eyes off me, he does just that. “Delicious.”