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"I am."
"When." His voice was gruff. He was still angry. "Tell me when."
"I can't - "she started to say, and he rolled his eyes, going around her to head for the door. Helplessly, she watched as he reached the door. "Tanner, it's not like that. We have to decide on that together."
"I think I've made it clear that where or when or how doesn't matter, just as long as I marry you," he said, putting the suitcase down and turning to her. "You're the one dragging her feet."
"I'll marry you now if you want," she declared.
Tanner shook his head. "Is that whatyouwant?"
When she didn't answer immediately, he sighed and picked up the bag. "I thought so."
"Tanner - "
"I'll see you when I return, Carmen. The service is here."
Then he was gone.
Carmen hugged herself, shaking violently as the house's silence assaulted her. No tears came, but a choking sensation spread in her throat, her eyes dry and sandy. Goosebumps rose as her skin dampened. Closing her eyes, her arms dropped to the sides. She plunked hard on the sofa and put her head between her legs.
Her erratic breathing eventually slowed. She raised her head and slid on her butt toward the floor. I love you, but I need more time, she should have told Tanner, except she knew he wasn't going to give it to her. She was a fool for wanting more time to be not Mrs. Tanner Morrison. He loved and desired her, and he was hurt by her apparent rejection and lack of commitment. She didn't know why the idea of finally marrying him left her cold and scared. Her feelings for him were true, but something in her, from somewhere, told her to wait. For what, she didn't know.
In times like this, she would go to her desk and get Ramiro's handwritten letters. They emailed for about a month before she asked if he would mind writing her the old-fashioned way. His handwriting gave her headaches, and the things he wrote both annoyed and amused her. They exchanged letters, and it was on the paper she wrote on that she to be at her most honest.
She chided him for not remembering Tanner ("He's the guy that stopped that paparazzi from selling the photo of you throwing up in front of Onyx Club") and told him she was proud of him and believed in him.
He was a friend, but she only realized it recently. It made her a total dunce, really. They didn't share their deepest, darkest secrets, but talking was always easy. At least, until Temperance would call Ramiro on his cell and demand that he come to her, or when she went on tour with them, rap on Carmen's door and tell Ramiro he had to leave. She always knew when to time her arrival - just when either Ramiro or Carmen was on the verge of sharing something important, put into words after a long time. Ramiro clearly didn't want to go, but he kissed Carmen on the cheek in apology and did as his sister demanded.
Carmen couldn't figure out their relationship, and when she asked the guys, they said they were always close. Their mother died, and Temperance had grown totally dependent on Ramiro. They thought she was a drag and had told Ramiro to man up about her, but it was pointless. He was devoted to his sister. Carmen didn't think to ask Ramiro himself. The dagger looks Temperance gave her were more than enough warning.
When Ramiro left, Carmen left the room too. Her destination would be a bar that was far enough that she won't be tempted to bring the guy back to her room, yet it wasn't that big of a hassle to drive back to. An emptiness hit her
hard when Ramiro left, and it left her restless. A stranger's cock made her forget the soreness in her cunt, the drug that put her to sleep upon her return.
Carmen took the box of letters and brought them to the kitchen with her. She hated food to go to waste, so she helped herself to a piece of the tart and popped open a bottle of her favorite brandy. Then she took the food, the bottle, and the box to the couch.
She could imagine Ramiro looking exasperated when he wrote, his green eyes twinkling with amusement as he fired off word after word. People would say they had a romance, but it wasn't. It was friendship. Carmen was glad that Ramiro was making the time to work out whatever issues were plaguing him. While she hoped he would sing again and command the stage, she never told him. Ramiro mentioned he missed the creative process behind a song, the writing, the composing, and the collaboration. He asked her once if she was in touch with former Seismic members, and she mentioned Lennon's wedding. But she added she didn't see much of them anymore. She kept tabs, though.
They had all gone into music production and had unique collaborations with other artists and groups. Carmen asked Euan why they didn't continue with the band with another singer. He told her that though Ramiro was a gigantic asshole, it felt wrong and disloyal to work with each other without him. Ramiro was the one to put the band together, so the guys would always be thankful to him.
Ramiro's last letter was from a month ago. They wrote a lot but only sometimes. Sometimes months would pass before another note came along. She read this lying on the couch. It was her favorite because he sounded like the old Ramiro again, snarky dashed with self-assured arrogance, amused and mocking.
Done, she put it in the box and kept print-outs of his emails. The heaviness and tension in her body had eased, but she could still be a little more relaxed. She put away her plate and the wine and went to the bedroom.
Her favorite thing in her house was not the bedroom but the hot tub. This was her indulgence, soaking in the warm bubbles and the jets underneath pounding and hitting her muscles. It was best accessed through her bedroom to ensure privacy, but one could also walk around the property to get there. With the high walls surrounding the house, Carmen didn't worry about being watched - not that there was much to see. The cluster of lemon trees in the garden surrounding the house provided more cover.
She filled it with water and then changed into an old, faded blue bikini. The halter style lifted her tiny tits toward each other, so in a particular light, she had what looked to be cleavage. Her broad shoulders didn't look mannish, although teeny bits of fabric bared her muscular physique. The bottom was the low, hip-skimming style. Her bush was full and thick as she hadn't gone to the waxer for two months. She tucked the hair into the panel of the bikini and then realized it was ridiculous. She was home alone, and it was her hot tub. On her way out, she grabbed a towel and put her phone in a dock. She swiped the screen until she found her Seismic playlist, then put it on random play. She turned the volume up and left the door from her room to the bath open to hearing the music.
She turned on the tub and fixed the settings. It was a fantastic night out, but she was content to wait for a few minutes before dipping a toe into the bubbly water and then the rest of her. "God," she groaned as excellent, hot water embraced her. She momentarily dunked her head in the water and then laughed. Her body slid across the tub to lean against the edge. With a contented sigh, she closed her eyes.
Heaven on earth. She had a hot tub, listening to music from her favorite band. In her house with the mortgage paid for. The two glasses of wine she'd had made her body delightfully slugging. A stream of shaky groans stuttered out of her lips as the jets and sprays pounded on her spine, the back of her shoulders, all the way down. In her relaxed state, her legs fell wide open.
A column of water rushed right toward her, right between her legs.
Her eyes flew open. "Oh, God.Fuck."
Flames licked her cheeks as she began to move away, then thought, why not?
