“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.