She opens her mouth to speak, and I pinch her lips. Her eyes narrow.
“I know I’m not dealing with this the way you think I should. And I’m glad you’re behind me in this. I’m grateful. And I love you more than any husband has ever loved a wife. I mean that. But today I just want you and me, nothing else.”
She pulls her lips away from my grasp. “I’m worried.” Empathy begins to well in her eyes, and I shake my head.
“Just you and me today, Mila, I mean it.”
With an exaggerated sigh, she opens her door. “Stubborn ass man.” Her rambling fades as she rounds the hood. And I can’t help but to laugh when I hear the grumbling mix of French and English catching words like ‘blood pressure’ and ‘wrinkles.’ She’s playfully helping me bat away the seriousness of the situation because it’s what I need. She opens my door growling at me, “Fine, come on, let’s go shoot some shit.”
There’s my Dame.
Lucas
“Okay, beauty, now squeeze the trigger and be ready for the kickback.”
She fires the gun, and Jake and I both laugh when we hear her scream.
She makes a quick turn and our balls shrink as we verbally squeak with protest, due to the loaded cannon in her hand. Her dark gray eyes widen with her attempt to play dumb, and she’s anything but. I’ve told her time and time again she could be an amazing actress, and she replies that it’s my job, not hers. We’d just spent the better part of two hours firing off a small list of guns Wes specified for the movie. It’s important for me to look like holding a gun is second nature. I’d done a war movie, but those guns were much different, had a different feel, weight, shape. These are the things I’d learned over the years that can take a character to the next level. Jake had brought a few others that he thought I would enjoy including a .38 Special, which my wife was currently aiming at the target.
After another shot and scream, she shakes her head. “Nope. Too much gun for me.”
Jake laughs, and I catch him eyeing her appreciatively. If he weren’t in his mid-fifties, I would take offense, but he is more amused than anything. My wife is a handful.
“I think we’re good,” Jake says, turning to me. “Keep them here, they’ll lock them up for me. I’m coming back tomorrow. Roth is coming in.”
“Matt Roth?” my wife asks, looking over at me expectantly. I may have intentionally left that part out.
“Thanks a lot,” I tell Jake, who reads the situation. “Now she’ll be on set every day.”
“Seriously?” she asks, placing small fists on her curvy hips. “Matt Roth is in it?”
“Yep,” I deadpan. She thinks it’s hysterical.
“Mila, nice to meet you. Keep him in line.”
“Will do. Nice to meet you too,” she says, packing up his guns.
Once we’re alone, she turns to me. “Who plays your wife?”
“Adriana Long.”
I only see a slight reaction in the subtle twitch of her lips, which confirms she’s a born actress. But Mila never acts, and it’s her tone that gives her away. “She’s attractive,” she says dryly, picking the Colt we’d been using and firing twice at the target. “If you like that dark-haired, long-legged, bombshell kind of thing.” She shakes her head in aggravation and looks back at me with a cloudy glare. “Dammit Lucas, really? Adriana Long? She was a fucking supermodel. Whatever.” She clicks a new magazine into place and fires off several rounds nailing the target just below the navel. When she’s done, she looks back at me and cocks a brow.
“We should go,” I say with a chuckle.
“Why? Because I’m getting good?”
“Yes,” I say, carefully taking her gun and discarding it before pulling her to me. “And I’ll be sending my representative to the set.”
I feel her smile against my cheek. “Good thing.”
We grab dinner at a local place we both love and take it to go. I want her alone in my favorite place—home. We dine out on the patio, and the conversation is easy. I tell her of my plans, and we both take notes of the ideas we have for research.
I’ve told her a majority of the plot and how Rayo deteriorates slowly in brain and body from the heroin, fucking up a lifetime of work that ultimately leads to his demise.
She sees the glint in my eyes as I pour her more wine and sip my beer. “You can do this. You were born to do this. I have so much faith in you.”
“Thanks, Dame,” I say, sitting back in my seat.