Method

“An infuriatingly good man,” he says, tossing my words back at me with a smirk.

“That too.”

He pauses on the bottom step at the base of the porch and looks down at me. The air shifts as awareness pricks my spine and my pulse spikes. As different as he looks, I would know those eyes anywhere and they soften as they scour my face with curiosity.

“You are… a very good man,” I confess readily.

He pulls me tightly to him, bending at my level to wrap me fully and we linger in the embrace before he whispers, “I’m your man, Dame.”

Somehow, I know in that moment, we are official. No more words need to be spoken, and they aren’t as he guides me into the house.

An hour and a half later, Bert and Noni, an Oscar-winning team of professional makeup artists, turn me in my chair to face my reflection and I shriek out in surprise before bursting into laughter. Lucas walks up behind me looking satisfied. He studies me closely while chuckling. “Wow.”

Leaning toward the mirror, I study my aged face and the newly attached wrinkled skin hanging a half inch from my throat. Extensions of light gray are woven expertly into my dark hair. The difference is realistic and somewhat disheartening.

“Remind me to moisturize later,” I tell Lucas as I study the middle-aged me.

“You’re still so beautiful,” he murmurs, planting a kiss on my cheek.

Noni smiles at my reflection. “I agree.” Bert walks up with a bag of supplies to help safely get the adhesive off later. Lucas thanks him and I hug them both with my own gratitude as we make our way onto the porch where I spot Paul waiting next to the limo.

“Your movement is too agile to be convincing,” Lucas notes as I bound out of the house.

“Is it?”

He nods, and I still can’t get over the change in both our faces.

“So, does this mean I get to act tonight?”

“Yes, Miss,” he says with his British tongue.

“Okay, well then teach me, Obie Wan.”

“Try to move like you just woke up from a deep sleep, like you’re stiff with sore muscles and you can’t quite get the kinks out.

“Like this?” I say, walking across the porch with stilted movement.

“Better,” he says with a smile.

“How about this?” I say, holding onto the railing of the steps with both hands and taking one at a time.

The rumble of his chuckle sounds behind me. “Maybe if you’re ninety.”

“Fine,” I huff.

“Just slow down a little, you’ll be good.” He joins me on the steps and we slowly descend while I try and mimic his movement.

“So, where are we going?”

“Still a surprise.”

“Come on, this is making me nervous.”

“I promise you’ll be fine.” He links our fingers. “Trust me?”

“Yes.”

When we get to the limo, Paul pulls something from his pocket and hands it to Lucas. “Thanks, man.”