You Had Me at Hola

by Alexis Daria

  “In a recent interview, McIntyre let it slip that he misses you and wishes things had ended differently. Do you have a message for him?”

  What. The. Fuck.

  Behind the interviewer, Tanya squeezed her eyes shut and slapped a hand to her face in disbelief.

  Out of sheer habit, Jasmine’s smile remained fixed to her face. But inside, anger rumbled like a volcano about to erupt. All of her hurt feelings about Ashton, McIntyre’s betrayal, and the stress of watching the career she’d busted her ass to build devolve into clickbait, churned like burning lava ready to spew . . . and incinerate the smug asshole sitting across from her.

  Little did he know, he was dealing with New Jasmine.

  She smiled sweetly, and while her tone dripped with honey, she let the Bronx out. “I will not be answering questions about anything related to my love life, at this time or any other. Let’s keep this interview focused on Carmen, ’kay? Now, do you have any other questions?”

  The interviewer stumbled over his words as he shuffled the cards in his lap. What the hell, were all of them about her ex-boyfriends?

  So she did something Old Jasmine never would have had the guts to do, but Carmen sure the hell would. She stood and waved Tanya over to deal with him.

  “We’re done here,” Jasmine said, and with a toss of her hair, strode away without looking back.

  Once she was out of sight, she resisted the urge to high-five herself for drawing a clear boundary and sticking to it. But the pride was tempered by sheer annoyance. The absolute fucking nerve of McIntyre. Oh, he missed her, did he? He wished he hadn’t broken up with her via tabloid while gallivanting around Cabo with a model half his age? That was fucking rich.

  Old Jasmine would have taken that as proof that she was worthy of a man’s attention and run back to him for validation. New Jasmine just wanted him to take her name out of his damn mouth.

  Still, the adrenaline rush from the confrontation left her a little shaken, so she made her way to catering for lunch. She hadn’t felt up to eating breakfast that morning, and she needed food and more caffeine. As she was fixing a cup of coffee, a squeaky voice behind her shouted, “¡Comida!”

  Jasmine abandoned her cup just in time to catch the tornado of elbows and knees that crashed into her.

  It was a little boy with sandy blond hair and familiar brown eyes. She immediately recognized him from the photos she’d seen online. His wide, gap-toothed smile won her over instantly, and she couldn’t help but grin back, even as her heart twisted.

  “Yadiel!” Ashton’s voice came from around the corner, not sharp, but concerned. When he stepped into view and saw them, he froze.

  “Like father like son,” Jasmine said wryly, helping Yadiel back onto his own two feet. Then she picked up her coffee and raised it in a mocking toast.

  Ashton’s lips pressed into a straight line and he didn’t reply.

  “¡Papi, mira!” Voice full of glee, Yadiel gestured expansively at the array of food. “Hay mucha comida aquí.”

  “Sí, mijo,” Ashton said gravely. “But you just ate.”

  “Pero quiero comer eso,” Yadiel replied, pouting.

  Since Ashton still hadn’t even deigned to acknowledge her presence, let alone make introductions, Jasmine picked up a plate and addressed Yadiel directly. “¿Qué quieres comer?”

  As Yadiel turned starry eyes on the trays of food and snacks, Ashton moved closer. “Inglés, Yadiel,” he said, when Yadiel started chattering about the food in Spanish.

  Jasmine rolled her eyes and muttered, “I do know some Spanish.” Enough to talk to children, at least.

  Ashton finally met her eyes. “He speaks English too. It’ll be good practice for him.”

  The mention of practice made her recall her own Spanish lessons with Ashton. He’d been unfailingly patient with her . . . almost like he was used to teaching a reluctant learner. At the time, she hadn’t given it much thought. But now, after meeting his son, things were starting to fall into place. His kindness, the bad jokes—holy shit, they were dad jokes not bad jokes—and how he was always texting with his father.

  He wasn’t just a caring son, as she’d thought. He was a caring son and dad.

  Once Yadiel and Jasmine had plates piled high with food—arroz con pollo, pastelitos, tostones, and fruit on the side—she led him to the dining area to eat. She had a feeling their eyes were bigger than their stomachs, but they’d had fun selecting the food and talking about their favorite dishes. Yadiel revealed that his abuelo y bisabuelos owned a restaurant, which Jasmine had already known, so the kid had lots of opinions about Puerto Rican food.

  Ashton followed, stiff and silent, while Jasmine’s conversation with Yadiel shifted to the Avengers. In the dining area, Jasmine and Yadiel sat at a round table with four chairs around it, but Ashton remained standing by the door. She tamped down her anguish and got a bunch of napkins for Yadiel, in case he was anything like her nephews. Despite Jillian’s best efforts, the boys ate like monsters.

  “How do you know about superheroes?” Yadiel asked her through a mouthful of rice.

  “I have nephews,” she told him. “I think you’d get along with them. They like superheroes and LEGOs too.”

  Yadiel was an easy kid to talk to, but Jasmine couldn’t ignore Ashton hovering like a nervous shadow in the doorway. His eyes were cold and distant, his expressive mouth set in a firm line. Everything about him was aloof and unapproachable . . . just like how he’d been when they first started working together.

  It hurt her heart to see him this way. He’d come so far over the past few months, opening up and letting people in. Not just her, but the rest of the cast. Nino looked up to him, Peter sought him out daily to discuss baseball, and Lily had named him her official dominoes nemesis. Watching Ashton retreat behind the mask he’d worn at the beginning made Jasmine sadder than anything else that had happened between them.

  If she thought about it further, she was going to weep, so she focused on Yadiel, who’d pulled a LEGO mini-figure from his pocket and was enumerating the toy’s many cool features.

  Jasmine looked up as a man wearing a pale blue guayabera shirt strolled into the dining area. He was shorter than Ashton, his skin darker and more lined, but he was unmistakably Ashton’s father. They had the same jawline, the same stride, and the same taste in shirts.

  As he approached the table where Jasmine and Yadiel sat, his face creased into a smile and he held out a hand. “Hola, Jasmine. Soy Ignacio, el padre de este cabrón aquí.” He jerked his chin to indicate Ashton.

  Yadiel let out a delighted giggle at hearing his grandfather call his dad a dumbass. Over by the door, Ashton muttered something under his breath and his scowl deepened.

  Jasmine grinned and took Ignacio’s hand, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Hola, Ignacio. ¿Cómo está usted?”

  He winked and took a seat on the other side of Yadiel. “Call me Nacho.”

  Ashton let out an audible sigh.

  Ignacio picked at the food on Yadiel’s plate as he talked to Jasmine about the show, her family, and where her grandparents had been born in Puerto Rico. He was a sweet, charming man, with as many opinions about food as his grandson. Jasmine had a flash of a younger Ignacio sitting and eating with Ashton when he was Yadiel’s age. But no, Ashton would have still been Ángel Luis then. She imagined Ashton as Ángel Luis at different ages. Lighter in demeanor and more carefree, before the stress of protecting his family amid the chokehold of fame had worn him down, compelling him to erect walls around himself. Part of her wished she could have known him then, but she’d grown to love the man he’d become, the man who expressed the depth of his emotions through other characters. The one who’d finally cracked open the door and given her a glimpse inside. Having seen what was within, she could even love the walls for keeping him safe, even though she thought he was being a royal jackass for locking her out again.

  Finally, Ashton checked his watch and stepped forward. “I’m due on set soon. Pa, can yo
u take Yadi back to my dressing room? Hang out there for a little while, and then I’ll finish giving you the tour.”

  Yadiel turned big, irresistible eyes on Jasmine, the same shape as Ashton’s but a lighter brown. “Will you come with us?”

  Her heart felt torn in two. Yes, she absolutely wanted to take Yadiel on a tour of the studio. If Ashton had kept him away from this world, it was probably the boy’s first time on set. She’d offered to give Jillian’s kids a tour, but her sister had implied they might be exposed to something improper, so Jasmine hadn’t asked again.

  But it wasn’t just that. She was also dying to see Ashton interact with his son. She wanted to observe the back and forth, how Yadiel pushed boundaries—because that’s what kids did—and the ways Ashton enforced them or capitulated.

  Except the look on Ashton’s face made it clear that he didn’t want her to join. After being his scene partner, and his lover, she was an expert at reading his expressions. If it were a college degree, she’d have graduated with honors.

  “Maybe,” she hedged. “I might have to film something else.”

  It wasn’t just the forbidding set of Ashton’s mouth that made her decline—it was the sheer panic lurking in his eyes. He was scared of her being around his son. She could see that, she just didn’t know why.

  “Okay.” Yadiel sounded disappointed, but then, without warning, he launched himself at Jasmine, catching her around the neck in a tight hug and landing a smacking kiss on her cheek. “Bye! Maybe I can meet your nephews someday.”

  “Maybe.” She couldn’t help smiling at him as he clambered down and skipped over to take his dad’s hand.

  Ignacio rose and picked up the remains of their lunch.

  “Un placer,” he told her. A hint of humor twinkled in his eye.

  “Igualmente.” She waved as they left the dining room, but at the last second, Ashton looked over his shoulder at her.

  Pure anguish burned in his gaze, so intense it stole her breath.

  For whatever reason, Ashton was utterly conflicted about how well Jasmine had gotten along with his father and son.

  Well, he wasn’t the only one. Ignacio and Yadiel were delightful. But she couldn’t keep doing this—pretending to be into him on camera, and pretending not to be into him behind the scenes, where her stupid self had gone and fallen in love with him. For the sake of her heart, she needed to draw a clear line in the sand. And this time, she would not cross it.

  IT WAS INCREDIBLY weird to see his family on set. He’d texted Marquita to help him smooth the way with the producers, and she’d come through. Security was so high on a film lot, it was rare to bring guests, but after attaining permission, Ashton had dutifully taken his son and father and grandparents around the interior areas of the lot and introduced them to a few people. And despite Ashton’s own anxiety about driving through the swarm of paparazzi, Yadiel had thought it was “awesome.” On the upside, Yadiel had loved his first studio tour. Ignacio and Peter had hit it off, and Nino had been totally enamored with Yadiel.

  And of course, Ignacio and Yadiel had loved Jasmine. Yadiel asked about the “pretty lady” every day, and Ignacio had become insufferable, winking and nudging Ashton at every opportunity.

  Standing by the door like a creep while they hit it off gave him plenty of time to wallow in regret. She’d been perfect with them. Listening to Yadiel chatter on about LEGOs and comics, talking to Ignacio about her family. It was all Ashton could do not to throw himself at her feet and beg her to forgive him. Her kindness to his family was more than he deserved. And he was so fucking pissed at himself for not telling her about them sooner.

  After sitting through hair and makeup, Ashton was on his way back to his dressing room when a PA intercepted him to hand over the script for episode eight.

  Ashton accepted with some trepidation. This was it—the season finale. And depending on whether they were renewed for a second season or not, it could end up being the series finale.

  The way viewers—and potential casting directors—felt at the end of a season was the emotion they would always associate with the show. It would be the last image he left them with. The rest of his career depended on nailing this episode.

  He tore through the pages, skimming scenes of Victor filming a TV special, being approached about writing a memoir, and performing an outdoor pop-up concert, and then . . .

  Ashton groaned out loud.

  More kissing. They were ending the season on an optimistic note for Victor and Carmen, and of course, that involved a heavy make-out session. He should probably be glad it wasn’t a full-on sex scene. Ashton had done plenty of those in his career, but to go from kissing on set, to kissing and fucking behind the scenes, to only screwing on-screen, would have broken him. He needed to clear the air with Jasmine, but he had no idea how, and really, he hadn’t had time. When he wasn’t on set, he was spending every waking minute with his family and navigating calls from his agent, Tanya, and interviewers wanting to know why he was such a terrible father. Words like “negligent” and “abandoned” got thrown around a lot, tapping into all of the guilt Ashton already carried from living apart from his son.

  He hadn’t heard from Yadiel’s mother again, which was a small blessing, and so far no one had uncovered her identity. Yadiel had been born in Orlando, and his birth certificate listed his parents’ birth names, not their stage names. Ashton was on there as Ángel Luis Felipe Suarez Bonilla. He hoped this would make it harder to find, or that people would lose interest before digging that deep.

  Jasmine was angry and Ashton couldn’t blame her. Still, he didn’t like leaving things open-ended like this, and he didn’t want her to think he’d used her, or that he was like her pendejo ex. He couldn’t tell her he loved her. What would be the point? But he could find a way to apologize. Somehow. She might not forgive him, and that was her choice, but he loved her too much to leave her hurting like this.

  In the meantime, he’d suffer through a choreography session directed by Vera and make the most of his last intimate moments with Jasmine—on camera. When it was all over, he’d mourn the loss of what could have been. If he were different. If his life were different.

  But it wasn’t. And there was nothing he could do about it.

  Chapter 34

  CARMEN IN CHARGE

  EPISODE 8

  Scene: Victor pulls Carmen up on stage.

  EXT: Pop-up concert at Rumsey Playfield in Central Park—DAY

  From the center of the stage, with a full band behind him rocking out with his signature blend of pop and Latin beats, Victor sang his number one hit single, “Hola, mi amor,” with renewed energy and emotion, his rich voice ringing out across the concert arena in the middle of Central Park. The crowd loved him, cheering and clapping and singing along.

  But Carmen was the only one who mattered. No one else knew it, but Victor had written this song for her.

  Across the heads of a thousand people, his gaze sought hers where she stood with her father next to the tent. Pride shone in her eyes as she watched him perform, making him feel like a million bucks—or a million records sold. Her faith in him had made this possible, her strength had seen it through. And—he hardly dared hope—her love had given him his life back. He’d gotten the tour spot, beat out Dimas del Valle, and even been approached about writing a memoir—with a sizable advance payment. He owed her everything.

  At Carmen’s side, her father crossed his arms and nodded approvingly. The script flashed in Victor’s memory, mapping onto what he knew they were saying.

  “You did it, mija.” Ernesto gave Carmen a warm smile. “Serrano PR is back on top. Tío Fredo would be proud.”

  When Ernesto dabbed at the corner of his eye, Carmen leaned in to give him a hug. “We did it. Together. Serranos do it better, remember?”

  The sentiment gave Victor a pang. One of the things that had broken them up before was Carmen prioritizing the family business over their future together. Would the same thing happen now?
>
  Maybe. But he wasn’t giving up without making his feelings clear.

  The song ended. Victor struck his ending pose and yelled, “¡Gracias, New York!”

  The crowd went wild.

  Sweating and breathless, with no filter left on his emotions, Victor leaned into the mic. “I wasn’t sure I’d get to do this again. Thank you for being a wonderful audience and for making my comeback concert so special.”

  More screams. When the audience quieted down, Victor zeroed in on Carmen again. His heart leaped at the way her eyes lit up and the encouraging smile she sent him. He felt the warmth of it all the way up on stage, but he needed more. He needed her. He held the mic close and said in a low growl, “Come up here, Carmencita.”

  Carmen’s eyes went wide and she froze as everyone turned to stare at her.

  Her father took her elbow, urging her up toward the stage, and Victor counted his blessings that Carmen’s parents were on his side.

  Still, Carmen only ever did what she wanted to do, so he wasn’t sure if she’d turn and bolt. He didn’t know what he’d do if she ran; there was no plan B. So he waited with nervous expectation as she climbed the steps, looking slightly dazed by her surroundings. Victor extended a hand out to her and she gripped it like he was her anchor in a storm. Warmth washed over him at her touch, and he drew her closer.

  “Did you plan this?” she hissed, but he smiled gently and shook his head.

  “No. But you deserve to be up here. This is your victory too.”

  Once she was with him in front of the mic, he put his arm around her and turned back to the crowd.

  “None of this would have been possible without the amazing Carmen Serrano.” He paused, then added in a soft voice, “My wife.”

  And then he kissed her full on the lips, right in front of everyone.

  Chapter 35

  CARMEN IN CHARGE

  EPISODE 8

  Scene: Carmen and Victor get intimate in his tour bus.

  INT: Victor’s tour bus—DAY

  Carmen and Victor burst into his trailer, buoyed by exhilaration. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other.