You Had Me at Hola(87)

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.