Luna Parks does, in fact, hate my wife. So do half the women who smiled at her tonight. They hate her for the same reason their husbands love her, which is that they all know what Elizabeth is capable of. She’s capable of adultery. I’m their proof. They know I’m capable of the same, of course. We’d both been married. We’d both cheated. What sets us apart is that we fell in love. We made it work. We were the rare exception to the rule, as evidenced by this marriage—ten years in October—far outlasting our previous marriages. My secretary, Simone, tells me that ten is the diamond anniversary, but Elizabeth insists that it’s aluminum. Pliability, she tells me, is the reference. Strong but flexible. That’s all well and good, but I’ll be damned if I give her Reynolds Wrap come autumn, so Simone is helping me find the perfect earrings. We’re zeroing in. None of that matters to our neighbors, though. Time and commitment can’t rewrite our origin story. Diamonds or tin, these Sag women remember, and they still hold a grudge, and they still hold their husbands close, because—I’m no fool—their horny husbands remember too.

Leaving the Yacht Club tonight, I’d felt content. We all did, despite having been detained by Luna Parks for half an hour. Elizabeth unbuckled her shoes. The boys unwound in the backseat, loosening their ties and laughing about who knows what. Jonah interrogated Elizabeth about food in our fridge.

“Do we have stuff for nachos?”

“I think so,” she said.

“Quesadillas?”

“Sure.”

“Margaritas?”

“Jonah.”

“Dessert?”

The marina is only ten minutes from home, but we detoured for ice cream. When the ice cream shop was closed, Elizabeth sent Jonah and Nick into the supermarket for four pints of Ben & Jerry’s and four plastic spoons. We ate right there in the car because we couldn’t be bothered to put on shoes and step outside. We couldn’t wait. I opened the sunroof. We looked for stars. I spilled Phish Food on my tuxedo shirt, destroying it completely and not caring one bit. Elizabeth ate her mint chip from a spoon turned upside down, like she does. She looked so beautiful staring up at the moon—her bare feet propped on the dash, her gold toenail polish reflecting fluorescent light—sucking her spoon like a lollipop. It was a moment worthy of intrusive photographers lurking over my shoulder. It was a moment I would like to have captured.

Things got melty. We came home. Jonah and I went upstairs to change out of our formalwear, but Elizabeth insisted upon first bringing fresh towels to the guesthouse. As for Nick, he was doing whatever it is he does. Brooding. Thinking deep thoughts. Accepting fresh towels from my wife.