A Winter Affair

She took a sip of red wine from her glass and let her eyes wander over the luscious design of her penthouse. Every intricate detail spoke of his undeniable affection for her - the way the grand piano sat by the window waiting for them to create their own musical scores or the unorganized king-sized bed in the master bedroom waiting to indulge in another of their sensual secrets. It made her wild, excited to remember his touch. She wanted more, much more. She dreamed continuously of how it would be like to be able to be in his arms forever - only to be awoken by the constant reality of another in his arms. She was his second priority and she knew it very clearly. Ding. Hey, she’s out of town at the moment. Wanna hang out? Sure. Meet u at ur house in 30 minutes. See ya sweetheart. Hesitation was never on her mind when it came to his company. She did not, even for a second, feel guilty about snatching another woman’s husband. He was all she had and she could not bear to think of him leaving her alone. Knock, knock. There he was, at the front door, waiting for her to open it, waiting to see her in her scandalous outfit that left little to the imagination. And, boy, her heart was pounding so hard in anticipation to see his handsome face and, oh, the aura he oozed that charmed her straight into her bed. ​ She opened the door and smiled from the bottom of her heart.

“Diana, he…he…” This was not him. This was her best friend, Camilla. This was his wife he was cheating on. Camilla had been crying for a while, with mascara running down her cheeks. The back of her hand was a mixture of black and red, the result of rubbing away her mascara and lipstick. Camilla hugged her immediately, crying out gibberish for a long while. “Camilla, calm down for a moment. Tell me what the problem is.” “He’s… he’s cheating on me with another girl.” Camilla burst into tears again, grabbing one of her red cushions and sniffing into it. Yeah, I bet you didn’t expect it’s me, but let’s keep that a secret, shall we? And please leave my poor cushion alone. Knock knock. Please let it be the landlady, the dry cleaners or the pizza boy. Please, please, please. ​ Step… step… step… She held her breath and opened the door slowly.