Actually, they were going to have a monumental fit. I gave this subject some deep thought, realizing I needed to discuss this with Susan.

Susan stirred, yawned, stretched, then gave me a peck on the cheek and rolled off. She stood beside the chaise facing into the sunlight with her eyes closed, and she asked me, “Do you remember the time Judy Remsen dropped by?”

“I do.”

She laughed and said, “I felt so bad for her.”

“Don’t feel too bad. She rushed off to call everyone she knew.” I sat up, drank some Pellegrino water, and watched Susan standing naked in the sunlight.

She said to me, “Stand here, facing me, and we’ll do stretching exercises.”

“I’m sorry. I pulled my groin. You go ahead.”

“John, you need to stay in shape.”

“I run.”

“You need to stretch and work your muscles.” She informed me, “There’s a new Pilates studio in Locust Valley.”

“A what?”

She explained, but I didn’t get it.

Susan began a series of stretching and bending exercises, and it was so sexy that I asked, “When does this class start?”

“Anytime you’re ready.”

She continued her gyrations, and I asked, “Is everyone naked?”

“No, John.”

“Oh…”

Susan slipped on her panties, spread her beach towel on the patio, then lay on her back and began doing floor exercises that didn’t seem humanly possible.

I glanced at the sun and guessed it was close to 3:00 P.M. I said to her, “Susan, I need to speak to you about a few matters.”

Without interrupting her routine, she replied, “Later. Let’s go out to dinner tonight.”

I didn’t reply.

She continued, “I’d like you to move your things here this afternoon. I’ll help you.”

I reminded her, “Your parents will be staying here.”

“Oh… we’ll work it out.”

I pulled on my shorts, stood, and said, “Let’s go inside.”

She stopped her leg lifts, sat up, looked at me, and asked, “What else do you need to speak to me about?” She pointed out, “We’ve discussed what needed to be discussed.”

I gathered my clothes and replied, “Some logistical things.”

She didn’t reply for a few seconds, then stood and gathered her clothes, and we went inside. As we got dressed in the kitchen, she suggested, “Let’s sit in my office.”

It used to be my den and home office, so I knew the way, and we went into the big front room where I’d seen her through the window a few days ago.

I expected to see that my masculine décor – leather, brass, mahogany, and hunting prints – had been replaced with something softer, but the furnishings and their arrangement looked the same as when I’d left ten years ago, and the only thing missing, aside from me, was some Army memorabilia. I noticed that she even had a framed photograph of my parents on a bookshelf.

Susan commented first. “I kept everything, except what you took.”

I didn’t reply.

She moved to the small bar and announced, “It’s time for a drink.”

“I’ll stick to vodka.”

She poured me a vodka with ice from the bar refrigerator and made herself a vodka and tonic.

We sat together on the leather couch, and Susan put her bare feet on the coffee table. As I’d learned from many years of law practice, I should make my points in ascending order of importance, starting with the least important, which was her parents. Also, start with a question. I asked, “How do you think your parents are going to react to our good news?”

She answered, without hesitation, “They’re going to have a shit fit.”

I smiled at the unexpected profanity, but to show this was a serious subject, I asked, “And how are you going to react to their shit fit?”

She shrugged, then replied, “It’s my life.”

“But it’s their money.”

“I have money of my own.” She added, “But not that much after I overpaid for this house.”

“All right. So-”

“And that’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”

“The answer is, I’m broke.”

She waved her hand in dismissal and informed me, “Oh, I guessed that. But you can earn a good living and you’re good in bed.”

I smiled and said, “All right, but-”

“No, what I wanted to tell you is, I don’t want us to have a prenuptial agreement this time.”

That was a bit of a shock, but she explained, “My only real assets are this house, and the house in Hilton Head, both of which are mortgage-free, and I want you to own half of both of them – and pay most of the bills.”

I replied, “That’s very generous, but-”

She continued, “As you’ve already figured out, when we announce our remarriage, my parents will threaten to cut me out of their will, and end their financial support.”

I saw that she’d thought about this in the last few hours, or maybe the last few weeks, or years. Apparently, while I was wondering if we could establish some civility toward each other, she was thinking about how much a remarriage to John Sutter was going to cost her. I was very touched that she decided that I was worth more than her parents’ money. Nevertheless, what was abstract and noble now was going to be a hard reality for her in a few days when she called Mom and Pop. I said to her, “They are not going to threaten to cut off your allowance and disinherit you. They will. In a heartbeat.”

Again, she shrugged and replied, “You, Mr. Sutter, are my last chance at happiness. And my happiness is all that counts.” She smiled and added, “Well, yours, too.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Say something nice.”

“I’ll say something realistic, and that’s the nicest thing I can say to you – life is not easy without money.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“That’s the point, Susan.”

“Are you trying to worm your way out of this marriage just because I’m down to my last few million dollars?”

I forced a smile and joked, “Don’t forget your dowry and the big wedding gift from your parents.”

She replied, “You can be sure they’ll offer me five million not to marry you.”

I stayed silent for a while, sipping my drink. Finally, I said, “All right… we could do very well on what you have left, stay in this house if you’d like, maybe keep the house in Hilton Head, and I can certainly earn a good living.” Which was true, even if I didn’t work for Murder, Inc., and I was fairly certain I wouldn’t be doing that after this turn of events in my love life.

Susan, picking up on my last statement, reminded me, “You have a job offer.”

“I do… and we’ll get to that shortly. But, money aside, have you considered the emotional cost of an estrangement from your parents?”

“They’ll get over it.” She added, “But I want you to promise not to throw fuel on the fire.”

I considered that and replied, “I’ll certainly let them know that I’m a very different man than the person they knew ten years ago.”

Susan observed, “You’re not. But you can say you are.” She reminded me, “You called my father a fuckhead.”

“No, I didn’t. I called him a-”

“I don’t need to hear that again.” She looked at me and said, “He probably deserved all that, but if you love me, you’ll apologize to him.”

“All right. I love you, so I’ll apologize.”

“Thank you.”

“And I’m very glad to hear that they’ve mellowed.”

She informed me, “Actually, they haven’t. I lied about that.” She smiled and winked.

I smiled, too, and admitted, “I didn’t believe you.”

She got serious and said, “We’ll do the best we can, John. It’s not going to be easy, but I promise you this – this time, I will always put you ahead of my parents.”

That was the first admission I’d ever heard from her that she’d had her priorities reversed when we were married. I understand the power of money, especially when it’s in the hands of people like William and Charlotte Stanhope, but ultimately, if you confront that sort of bullying and manipulation, everyone will benefit, even people like those two. I said, with far more optimism than I felt, “Well, we may be surprised at how they react when we tell them.”