You Had Me at Hola

by Alexis Daria

  “It’s not just that it didn’t work out.” Jasmine’s voice held a defensive edge, but she was too tired to soften it. “I can’t keep being intimate with Ashton on-screen while pretending I’m not in love with him. And when shit got hard, he disappeared. Everything related to this show is tied up in him, and the bottom line is, he didn’t trust me. I can’t keep working with someone like that.”

  “Ah.” Michelle nodded sagely. “Point four on the Jasmine Scale.”

  Ava’s voice was gentle. “Sweetie, is it so unreasonable that he didn’t tell you he had a son? It sounds like he was used to keeping that secret under wraps. And you . . .”

  “Are a paparazzi magnet,” Michelle finished bluntly. “Now get inside, we have flower arrangements to prep.”

  Between the three of them, they dragged Jasmine’s suitcases into the venue and set to work.

  “How many magenta flowers again?” Michelle asked.

  “Two,” Ava replied between her teeth. “For the fifth time, it’s two ginger alpinias, one yellow rose.”

  “Got it.” Michelle yanked all the delicate tropical flowers out of her vase and started over. “So he didn’t trust you with his kid. So what? You trust people too easily.”

  Jasmine huffed as she lined the inside of a rectangular glass vase with large leaves. They looked crooked, so she pulled them out and did it again. “I know I do.”

  “My point is, you can’t measure another person’s willingness to trust against your own. For example, you’d never have a secret baby because you can’t keep a secret. I’m kind of impressed he managed it for—how old is the kid?”

  “Eight,” Jasmine replied, finally satisfied with the leaves. “Yadiel is eight.”

  Wait. There was something about numbers . . .

  Jasmine’s hands stilled on the leaves as her stellar memory supplied a missing piece of the puzzle. After the Latinx in the Arts Summit, Ashton had told her about the attempted home invasion. What had he said exactly?

  Around seven years ago, someone tried to break into my house.

  Seven years. According to Buzz Weekly, Yadiel was eight. That meant . . .

  Oh, shit. Yadiel had already been born when it happened. He would have been just a baby, but god, no wonder Ashton was so overprotective about his son’s safety.

  “That is impressive,” Ava agreed, referring to how long Ashton had kept Yadiel a secret. “And you’re both right. These centerpieces are too complicated.”

  Michelle held up a finger threateningly. “Oh no you don’t. You designed them and insisted they would be ‘easy’ to assemble at the venue. We had our doubts, but now we have committed to these centerpieces and goddamn it, we are making these centerpieces.”

  Ava sighed and kept sorting palm leaves.

  Jasmine’s mind continued to turn over this new realization. Ashton had left out mention of Yadiel when he’d told her about the break-in. But still, he’d shared it with her, one of his biggest secrets. That couldn’t have been easy for him.

  Michelle was right. Jasmine did trust easily, and look where it had gotten her. She could see now it was a direct response to feeling ignored and misunderstood by her parents and siblings. It was why she’d readily given her heart to every semi-attractive man who’d even shown her an ounce of attention. She sought her parents’ love by securing romantic relationships, because in her family, that was what made you a success.

  But that wasn’t healthy. And trust wasn’t meant to be given in one lump sum. It was earned, little by little. And hadn’t Ashton been doing that? Little by little, he’d let her in. Who was she to say he wouldn’t have told her about Yadiel eventually? Kitty Sanchez had forced his hand, and Jasmine had made herself the victim.

  It occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, packing her bags and leaving a frantic voice mail on her agent’s cell phone was just a tiny bit rash.

  Jasmine’s mind wandered back to something else Michelle had said earlier. “You’re right about another thing,” she murmured.

  “Of course I am.” Michelle shot her a grin to show she was joking. “What am I right about this time?”

  “I do love working on Carmen.” Jasmine set down the shears and tried to put the feeling into words. “Working on a show with so many Latinx cast and crew members? It was an incredible experience. I got so caught up in the drama of Ashton that it didn’t fully sink in while I was there. But when I compare it to working on, well, every other show I’ve worked on . . . god, it was like magic.”

  Ava nodded, her eyes full of understanding, and touched Jasmine’s hand. “Keep cutting the leaves,” she said in a mock whisper. “And I’m sorry it wasn’t picked up for a second season.”

  “Oh, we still don’t know,” Jasmine said absently as she measured and cut.

  “Wait, what?” Michelle stared at her, then at the suitcases in the corner. “You don’t even know if you’re getting a season two but you’re still going back to Glamour Squad? What about your contract?”

  Before Jasmine could answer, someone called out, “Hello?”

  Ava let out a panicked squeak. “Oh god, one of the tías is early.”

  “Worse than that,” Jasmine murmured, spotting a familiar freckled face in the entrance to the ballroom. “It’s my agent.”

  “For real?” Michelle dropped the roses and raised a hand, waving Riley over. “Hey, come over here and help us talk some sense into your client.”

  Riley Chen rushed into the room, her dark shoulder-length bob mussed and her freckled cheeks flushed. She dragged a rolling suitcase behind her with a laptop bag slung over one shoulder, making her petite frame slightly lopsided.

  “I’m so glad I caught you,” Riley said. Her eyes widened as she took in Jasmine’s pile of suitcases.

  “Did you just come here from California?” Jasmine asked in disbelief.

  Riley shot her an exasperated look. “I got on the first flight this morning, which I wouldn’t have had to do if you’d answered your phone.”

  Jasmine grimaced. “I swear I was going to call you when I got back to LA.”

  Riley shook her head. “I don’t need you in LA. I need you here.”

  Jasmine pursed her lips as something else occurred to her. “Speaking of, how did you know to find me here?”

  “I follow Michelle on Instagram.”

  Michelle looked up from where she was taking a picture of the flowers from an artful angle. “What, you didn’t know Riley and I are mutuals?”

  Ava retrieved a bottle of water and a donut for Riley, who took them gratefully. “So, since you’re here,” Ava began, and glanced meaningfully at the still-unassembled centerpieces. “Want to help us with these while we help Jasmine make a decision?”

  “I’ve already made a decision,” Jasmine said, although she was feeling less decisive by the minute.

  “Your decision sucks,” Michelle told her. “Make a new one.”

  Jasmine shot her a glare, but didn’t reply.

  Riley wiped the donut crumbs off her fingers with a napkin, then took the cut ribbons Ava handed her. “While I would never tell you that you’ve made a bad decision,” she began, “it is my duty as your agent to remind you that you signed a three season contract, and to ask that you hold off on deciding anything just yet.”

  “I guess this means you didn’t call Ben at Glamour Squad?”

  “Ah, I did not, no. Because I was waiting for you to wrap Carmen before telling you I’ve had a lot of inquiries come in. People want to work with you, and they’re trying to get you on their schedules before Carmen gets picked up for another season.”

  “We don’t know if it will,” Jasmine pointed out, but Riley cut her off.

  “Oh, it will. Trust me, with the amount of buzz the show has been getting, they’d have to be stupid not to film more episodes.”

  Jasmine frowned. “You mean all the stuff about me and Ashton? That’s not good buzz.”

  “All buzz is good buzz. Haven’t you—oh, shoot.” She slapped a hand
to her forehead. “I forgot you deleted all your social media apps. You really haven’t seen.”

  “Seen what?” Bewilderment mixed with apprehension. Now what were people saying about her on the internet?

  Riley pulled out her phone and navigated to Jasmine’s Instagram profile.

  Jasmine blinked. “Holy shit. Since when do I have one hundred thousand followers?”

  “Since the publicist for Carmen has been working her butt off to generate early buzz for the show.” Riley took her phone back. “Tanya’s been posting pictures and videos from the set since the beginning, playing up the Latinx angle and the rom-com angle. Rom-coms are huge right now.”

  Jasmine shook her head in awe. “I had no idea. After McIntyre, I’ve been completely ignoring all that.”

  “Stop saying ‘after McIntyre’ like he was some kind of natural disaster that destroyed your home,” Michelle snapped, slapping a rose on the table and sending petals flying. “He was one douchebag who broke your heart. He just happened to be a household name.”

  “Michelle . . .” Ava raised her eyebrows in warning.

  Michelle shook her head. “No, I’m tired of it. She needs to know.”

  Ava sent Michelle a look and soon the two were having a whispered argument while Riley stuffed palm leaves into glass vases like her life depended on it.

  But Jasmine ignored them because . . . Michelle was right.

  What was next? “After Ashton”? While it had a nice ring to it, this wasn’t what Jasmine wanted her life to be. All it did was play into the myth society wanted her to believe, that her love life was the most important thing about her. And it wasn’t, damn it. She was a fully rounded person with hopes and dreams and fears—and a hundred thousand Instagram followers, apparently.

  She could still be the Leading Lady in her own life.

  What would that look like? How did she want it to look?

  Your decision sucks. Make a new one.

  What if it were really that easy?

  Jasmine dug in her bag for her phone.

  “What are you doing now?” Michelle’s voice was heavy with suspicion.

  “Canceling my flight.”

  Riley let out an enormous sigh of relief.

  Some part of Jasmine’s brain must have known she was overreacting, because she’d gotten travel insurance on the flight. While she navigated the cancellation on the airline’s app, her mind whirled with everything her cousins had said, including some wise words from Ava . . .

  Is it so unreasonable that he didn’t tell you he had a son?

  At the time, yeah, it had seemed completely unreasonable. How dare he keep something like that from her? She’d shared openly with him about her own life.

  But the truth was, she didn’t have any secrets nearly as big as his. Hell, her business was already splashed all over magazine covers. And Yadiel was a secret Ashton had fought hard to protect for good reasons. As much as it stung to admit, it made sense that he hadn’t told her. She shouldn’t feel entitled to every part of him, especially not so early.

  They’d said some awful things to each other, but all relationships had ups and downs, right? She had minor tiffs with her cousins and siblings all the time.

  Make a new decision.

  What if she did things differently this time around? What if, instead of throwing herself in headfirst, they took things slow? She’d get to know his family, since they were clearly so important to him, and he could . . . well, he could meet hers, but she wouldn’t be offended if he didn’t want to spend a lot of time around them. She sure didn’t.

  But as she looked over at her cousins arguing over the flower arrangements, she knew that wasn’t entirely true. Sure, Ava and Michelle were her best cousins, her Primas of Power, and she trusted them in all things, but when it came down to it, she knew the rest of her family would have her back. And her parents loved her, even if they didn’t always understand her.

  She would get through the party and try to enjoy herself. Then, when it was over, she’d have a meeting with Riley about next steps. It was time to let her agent in on the Leading Lady Plan. Knowing Riley, she’d happily turn it into a spreadsheet.

  And after that . . . she’d call Ashton. She’d apologize, and then . . . well, she’d see where it went from there.

  She picked up the flowers Ava dumped in front of her and got to work.

  Chapter 39

  Ashton’s nerves were out of control by the time he arrived at the party venue in the Bronx. He’d imagined a small gathering at someone’s casa, maybe a community center, but this was . . . grand.

  Marina Del Rey sat right on the water, overlooking the Long Island Sound. The exterior was all sand-colored stone, with fountains and archways and columns, and lined with trees and well-trimmed shrubs.

  “Is it a wedding?” Abuelita Bibi asked as Ashton helped her out of the rental car.

  “They must have weddings here,” Abuelito Gus replied, then he elbowed Ashton and winked. “In case you really want to make this a spectacle.”

  “Is there gonna be cake?” Yadiel leaped out of the car and bounced on his toes.

  “I’ll park,” Ignacio said. “Wait for me.”

  They all walked in together. A few people in the entranceway gave them odd looks, but Ashton channeled Victor and strode forward, Yadiel’s hand tucked into his.

  “Are you going to stand on a stage and tell everyone how you feel?” Yadiel asked in a mock whisper.

  Ashton remembered how Victor brought Carmen up on stage in the final episode. But Ashton wasn’t like Victor. If anything, Jasmine was more like Victor, and he was more like Carmen. And Carmen . . . she’d do this differently.

  “No, mijo. I don’t think so. I only need to tell her.”

  Abuelita Bibi patted his arm approvingly and whispered, “Tengo un buen presentimiento.”

  Taking heart in Abuelita Bibi’s good feeling, Ashton led his family into the main hall. His mouth immediately went dry.

  Ignacio came up beside him. “Now this is what I call a party,” he said, sounding impressed.

  There had to be at least two hundred people packed inside. Salsa music blared, and the central dance floor was alive with movement. Couples danced, children ran around underfoot, and people sat chatting and eating at the round tables interspersed around the room.

  Everyone was dressed to the nines, and Ashton sent up a silent prayer of thanks for whatever “feeling” had led Abuelita Bibi to pack Yadiel’s suit “just in case.” His son was looking sharp, even with his sling.

  The color scheme of the party was magenta and yellow, and it showed in the flowers, table settings, and even in the neon lights lining the ceiling and arches on the walls. People browsed a buffet table along one end of the ballroom, and there was an enormous cake on its own table at the other end.

  Yadiel spotted it at the same time.

  “Cake,” he said reverently, and Ashton choked back a laugh.

  Then the whispers started, and he knew he’d been spotted.

  A week ago, they would have sent him running for the hills. But not today. His parents had always shown him that when you cared about someone, you showed up for them.

  Besides, he had a grand gesture to make.

  Squaring his shoulders, Ashton gave Yadi’s hand a squeeze.

  The crowd on the dance floor parted. An older woman in a yellow sequined dress with a full skirt stood in the center, dancing with a young man.

  For a second, the whole room held its breath. Then the woman in yellow screamed.

  Shouts broke out. People leaped over chairs to reach her, but all she did was point wordlessly at Ashton.

  Others found their voices, though. And suddenly, from all throughout the ballroom, he heard the name of every character he’d ever played on a telenovela.

  “It’s el matador!”

  “El diablo más sexy!”

  “El duque de amor!”

  And then Jasmine’s voice. “Ashton? Is that you?”


  He turned to her like a dying plant seeking the sun. She was radiant in an off-the-shoulder red dress, her dark hair spilling in shiny waves over her bare shoulders. Everything else fell away, and he felt a tug in his gut, pulling him toward her. He saw the look of shock on her face, but there was something else there too. Something like gratitude.

  All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and steal her away, or—more appropriately—drop at her feet and beg her to forgive him.

  But this was her grandmother’s birthday. And while he was here to give his heart to Jasmine, she had originally asked him to make it a party no one in the family would ever forget.

  It was time to uphold his end of the bargain.

  Channeling the confident gallantry of el matador, Ashton turned to Esperanza. “May I have this dance?” he asked in Spanish.

  Esperanza seemed to have recovered from the shock of seeing him. She drew herself up, grabbed a fistful of her full skirt, and struck a pose. “Can you salsa?”

  Ignacio snorted. “Of course he can salsa.”

  Ashton strode forward and caught the older woman up in a fierce, fast dance. She was good—really good—and soon everyone around them was dancing and cheering. Cameras and phones were out, recording them, but for once, Ashton didn’t care. The happiness in Esperanza’s eyes was enough to put him at ease. When was the last time he’d felt that?

  Before Yadiel was born, maybe. Since then, he’d been keeping a secret, constantly worried someone would uncover it or that something terrible could happen to the people he loved and that he wouldn’t be there to protect them. While he was still pissed over the invasion of his privacy, he had to admit he felt lighter than he had in a long time. He’d kept himself isolated, except from his own family, which was small. But Jasmine’s . . . reminded him of home. Of big parties with his mother’s relatives before they’d all eventually moved to the States. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the feeling of community.

  He desperately wanted Yadiel to have this.

  When the dance ended, Esperanza beamed at him. Everyone around them broke into applause and raucous cheers.

  Jasmine’s abuelo, Willie Rodriguez, stepped in to shake Ashton’s hand and thank him for coming. Others streamed onto the dance floor to tell him which of his characters they loved or hated. He smiled and chatted easily in a mix of Spanish and English, but his eyes searched the room until he spotted Yadiel running around with some of the other kids and his father and grandparents sitting at a table with Ava. They had full plates of food in front of them.