To Kiss a Prince

ago after we started dating. He'd yet to put any elbow grease into it, but I could imagine how fabulous it would be when it was finished. I kept begging him to let me paint the interior. He'd promised I could in the New Year. I could hardly wait.
I wished he'd let me do it before Christmas. I imagined the entry hall painted in cranberry red with swags of evergreen garlands mixed with gold ribbon and twinkling lights wrapped around the bannister. There would be patchwork stockings hanging from the brick fireplace mantle and a perfect Christmas tree in the bay window. Maybe I'd paint a mural in the dining room or stick with an interesting shade of green. No dining room should be red, so cranberry there and green in the living room. Vintage posters of Santa would be perfect in the living room. Maybe something Victorian. Yes, it would be perfect.
I sighed. Instead it was a week until Christmas, and Neil's walls were still a dingy magnolia, the floorboards needed refinishing in the worst way, and he hadn't put up so much as a wreath. Meanwhile my dinky apartment looked like Christmas had thrown up inside. Between the tiny potted Christmas tree with the miniature handmade ornaments (created by yours truly) and the strings of Christmas cards (some vintage, some actually sent to me) across the doorways, it was a spot of cheer in the midst of what was turning out to be a dreary Yuletide.
Ah, well. Maybe Neil would let me decorate for Valentine's Day. He might be my prince charming, but lately we hadn't seen much of each other thanks to his busy schedule. We could both use a little more romance in our lives.
Neil's midnight blue BMW was parked in his cracked driveway. I made a mental note to add new driveway to his never-ending list of home repairs. I noticed the houses on either side of him sported Christmas lights and wreaths, and made another mental note to try to convince him to at least put up something in the spirit of the season.
The front steps creaked ominously under my booted feet and surprisingly, the door was unlocked. Neil never left the door unlocked. I stuck my key back in my purse, suddenly worried. Had something happened?
I pushed the door opened cautiously. No squeaks. He'd finally oiled the hinges. My boots echoed on the scarred hardwood floors as I entered the living room. There was no sign of my boyfriend.
"Neil?" No answer. That uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach intensified. Maybe he was sick or something? Had someone broken in? The door didn't look like it had been forced.
I made my way to the kitchen at the back of the house. There was an open bottle of wine on the counter, which was unusual seeing as it was the middle of the day, and he had to be at work in a couple hours, but there was still no sign of Neil.
I walked back through the living room and started up the stairs. I heard Neil's voice, a faint rumble, and let out a sigh of relief. He was okay. He must be in his office on the phone or something.
I took the stairs quickly and poked my head through the open doorway of his office. Empty. Bedroom then.
The door was closed, so I pushed it open and stepped inside. "Neil, you'll never…" My voice trailed off. I suddenly found myself unable to speak. All I could do was stare at the sight of Neil's bare ass pistoning in the air while a woman writhed below him. A very naked woman. A very naked woman who was not me.
I found my voice. "What the fuck, Neil?"
He froze. The woman opened her eyes and stared at me.
"Dios," she whispered. "I think it's your girlfriend."
Neil rolled off her so fast you'd have thought his butt was on fire. He clutched a pillow to his privates, for which I was grateful. Because right about then I wanted nothing more than to take a carving knife to them. No sense tempting fate.
"Anna," he gulped, his face almost as white as the pillow he was clutching. "Sweetheart. What are you doing here?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said with dripping sarcasm. "I had a bad day and wanted to talk to my boyfriend about it."
"Why didn't you call first?"
"You're seriously asking me this right now?"
"This isn't what it looks like," he said.
"It isn't? Oh, good. Because what it looks like is you're fucking your married neighbor."
He flushed scarlet, but I could tell the woman was trying to hold back a laugh. I shot her a glare.
"Sorry," she whispered. I wasn't sure if she was apologizing for laughing or for playing naked mambo with my boyfriend. "I think I'd better leave."
"Yeah, I think that's a good idea," I said. Neil didn't say anything.
The woman jumped out of bed and strode across the room, seemingly unworried about her state of undress. Couldn't say I blamed her. She was one hot tamale and clearly knew that. She was also clearly unbothered by the ring on her finger or the fact that the man she'd gotten naked with was involved with another woman. In this case, me. I felt like I should hate her, but I was still having visions of Neil's junk and sharp kitchen equipment.
Neil's neighbor, whose name I couldn't remember—Maria, Sofia, something like that—slipped on her jeans and sweater, snagged her ballet flats off the floor, and padded toward the door. She turned to give Neil a long, slow, sultry look. The slut.
"Later, Neil," she purred. Then she was gone. The front door slammed.
"I can explain."
I glared at him. "Why don't you explain how long this has been going on?"
"Uh, not long." He edged toward the pile of clothes on the floor.
"How long?"
"Um, since right after you started your job."
"Six months?" I all but screeched. "This has been going on for six months?"
He shrugged, which infuriated me even more.