Now, he would have given anything to have one more second with her, so he could introduce her to Yadiel. His biggest triumph. It was cliché, but Yadi was his pride and his joy, and he mourned every day that his mother had never seen his son, and that Yadiel would never know her love. In those moments of darkest grief, he wished Yadiel had a mother who loved him as much as Ashton’s had. But he couldn’t change how things had turned out, and he wouldn’t anyway. Everything that had happened led to him being Yadiel’s father, and he wouldn’t give that up for anything.

Guilt pricked him, sharp and swift. Wasn’t he giving that up in pursuit of his career? Shoving off the responsibility onto his father and his aging grandparents?

Jasmine, oblivious to the direction of his thoughts, carried on, and he latched onto her words to pull him out of the dark.

“My abuela is a huge telenovela fan, but my other grandmother watches American soaps,” she said, adding more olives and meat to her plate. “I started watching The Young and the Restless and The Bold and the Beautiful while visiting my mom’s parents’ on summer vacation. But my absolute favorite, which I will deny if you ever tell anyone, was Passions.”

“Passions?” His eyebrows shot up. “The one with the—”

“Yes,” she said with a laugh. “The one with the everything. It was so over the top, I couldn’t get enough. But keep in mind, I was probably eight when it started, so not exactly the most discriminating viewer.”

“Eight?” He groaned. “You’re making me feel old again. I think I was in high school then.”

“All right, viejo, what was your favorite? I told you mine.”

He didn’t love that she’d called him an old man, but that she’d said it in Spanish, and as a term of endearment, pleased him. “Café, con aroma de mujer because . . . well, because it was about coffee.”

Jasmine snickered. “How very on brand for you.”

Ashton piled more food on his plate, surprised he’d already finished the first serving. He was enjoying talking to her. This was way better than fitting in a second workout or channel surfing alone in his suite. “How did you get into soaps?”

“I was doing commercials and my agent booked me an under-five role on General Hospital. I was living the dream! That led to a stint on Days, and then a slightly bigger role on Y&R, and then I did Sunrise Vista. It didn’t last long, but it got me on The Glamour Squad—”

“And then you got a Daytime Emmy nomination.” He clapped. “You should be proud.”

She shrugged. “I am, but I’m not doing it for the accolades; I just want to be a working actor with consistent gigs. I don’t want to struggle. And both of my grandmothers are over the moon about it, even if the rest of my family acts like I don’t have a quote-unquote real job.”

“I feel the opposite about telenovelas,” he admitted. “I’m proud of the work I’ve done and the awards I’ve received, but they mean nothing if I can’t break out.”

“Nothing?” She raised an eyebrow. “Now you sound like Victor.”

He laughed. “God forbid. And don’t get me wrong. This work is important. We’re normalizing people who look and sound like us being happy and successful.”

“But you want to be in Hollywood movies?”

He took a long drink of seltzer, wishing it were something stronger. “I do.”

“Why keep working in TV if you hate it so much?” she asked, a slight frown on her face.

The question made him fidget, and he wasn’t sure why. “I don’t hate TV, but I’m tired. Telenovelas were supposed to be a stepping stone to the next level. I just didn’t expect to get stuck there for so long. My hope is that Carmen will be the project that bridges the gap.”

Jasmine stared at him over the antipasto platter with a dazzling, intense gaze. “I think you secretly love it,” she said in a low voice. “Eliciting an emotional reaction from the audience? It’s like the best drug there is. Soaps and telenovelas—we’re experts at it. Love. Hate. Passion. You live for the viewer reactions. You crave them.”

Lulled into a spell by her words and the silky tone of her voice, he lowered his own as well. They were getting into dangerous ground, and he didn’t care. “And what reaction do I elicit from you?”

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Nada.”

Heat bloomed in his belly and spread. “Ay, linda. Estás mintiendo.”

You’re lying.

Jasmine opened her mouth to reply—and was interrupted by a brusque knock on the door. A chorus of voices called out, “Jaaaaaasmine, we’re heeeeere!”

His eyes shot to hers. He yearned to know what she would’ve said, but the impulse was tempered by a growing sense of horror and betrayal.

She’d told someone.

Was it the press? Their coworkers?

Jasmine sucked in a breath. “It’s my cousins.”

Ay, Dios. Even worse.

Chapter 19

Jasmine opened the door to find Michelle and Ava standing in the hallway. Michelle held up a tote bag that clanked. “We come bearing wine.”

“And pizza!” Ava bustled past Jasmine into the kitchen, carrying a large cardboard box that brought heavenly smells into the suite.

Michelle glanced over at Ashton like she was just noticing him. “Oh, do you have company?”

She knew damn well Ashton was there, since Jasmine had texted them on the way home admitting she’d invited him over. They’d reminded her about her Leading Lady Plan and then gone silent. Jasmine should’ve guessed they were up to something, but she’d been preoccupied with ordering food and freshening up before Ashton arrived.

“What are you doing here?” Jasmine whispered while Ava introduced herself to Ashton.

Michelle gave her a pointed look. “Saving you from yourself.” Then she strolled over to Ashton and said, “Well, well, if it isn’t el león dorado.”

Jasmine completed the introductions, everyone kissed hello on the cheek, and soon they were all seated at the round dining table, digging into the pizza.

“Ooh, toppings!” Michelle grabbed olives and roasted red peppers from the antipasto plate and piled them onto her pizza slice. “So what were you two up to?”

Ashton passed around napkins. “Rehearsing lines.”

This was a slight exaggeration, considering they had yet to open their scripts, but it was better than admitting they’d been flirting over olives and telenovelas.

“Excellent,” Michelle said. “We’ll help you. Jasmine’s the pro, but Ava and I also took drama classes in school.”

“What do you do now?” Ashton asked politely.

“Freelance graphic designer.”

Michelle did so much more than that, but Jasmine didn’t contradict. Starting the freelance business had been Michelle’s way of recovering from her high-level—and extremely stressful—corporate job.

“And you?” Ashton asked, turning to Ava.

“Middle school teacher.” Ava yanked the cork out of the wine bottle. “But I’m on summer break now.”

“And how about you?” Michelle asked Ashton, as if she didn’t know. Jasmine rolled her eyes as Ava filled her wineglass.