by Alexis Daria
At every step, Vera asked if they were comfortable and if the moves made sense for Carmen and Victor. To Jasmine’s surprise, Ilba and Marquita stayed off to the side, offering comments and suggestions when asked, but for the most part, letting Vera do her thing. There was no ego here, and wasn’t that a rare thing in this industry?
Vera was clearly good at her job. This kiss was going to look hot once they filmed the whole thing together. So far, they’d just done bits and pieces, choreographing it like a dance or a stage fight.
And strictly speaking, Ashton wasn’t a complete stranger, but it was still weird. The first time he touched his lips to hers, it was as unsexy as you could get. They were both looking at Vera, not each other, and balancing awkwardly, with his lower lip pressed to her top one. Vera had instructed them not to kiss so much as touch their mouths together while they perfected each part before moving on to the next.
It was going well, and everyone was behaving like a consummate professional, but Jasmine was used to laughing through love scenes, finding common ground in how weird and awkward the whole thing was. With Ashton, it was like all the strangeness of what they were doing was being filtered through Vera. Which was good, but . . . when were they going to connect?
Finally, Vera seemed satisfied with the rehearsal. “Do you two feel comfortable running through the whole scene now?”
Ashton nodded, but Jasmine’s “yes” was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn.
She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry. No coffee yet.”
Ashton shot her a look, and was it her imagination, or was he fighting back a smile?
Marquita checked her phone. “Uh-oh. The crew is waiting to come in.”
Vera looked troubled as she addressed Jasmine and Ashton. “I don’t want to rush you through this now, but I also don’t want the first time you run through the whole thing to be with the entire crew present.”
Before Jasmine could say anything, Ashton shrugged. “We’ll be fine. We don’t want to get too far off schedule.”
He raised an eyebrow at Jasmine, like he was asking her to agree, so she nodded. The impulse to not waste the crew’s time was ingrained in her from her time on soap operas, and she couldn’t stand the thought that people were waiting on them to finish.
“Yeah,” she said, giving Vera a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine.”
“Don’t forget to high-five,” Vera told them.
Ah yes. The closure ritual. Jasmine looked to Ashton, who wore an unreadable expression. Without a word, they raised their hands and slapped them together.
Except their timing was off. She’d started too early, and he hadn’t put enough force into it. Probably trying not to hurt her. Either way, it was a pretty poor showing as far as high fives went.
“Awesome.” Ilba grabbed her things. “Let’s get you two into hair and makeup.”
Jasmine followed her out. Maybe the makeup brushes would wash away the feel of Ashton’s strong fingers on her skin. The last thing she needed was his phantom caresses plaguing her all day.
The man was an enigma, albeit a sexy one. If she were smart, she’d keep her distance.
Too bad Jasmine had never been smart when it came to men.
Chapter 11
CARMEN IN CHARGE
EPISODE 3
Scene: Carmen’s mother teaches Victor to cook.
INT: Serranos’ kitchen—NIGHT
Carmen staggered into the basement-level kitchen of her parents’ Spanish Harlem brownstone, loaded down with heavy shopping bags. Victor and her mother, Dahlia Serrano, stood at the kitchen island calmly chopping vegetables together.
“Didn’t you two already go to the grocery store?” Carmen complained. “Why did I have to make another trip after work? The lines were unbelievable.”
“We want Victor to win, no? Pues, necesitamos un side dish.”
Carmen rolled her eyes, but began unloading the groceries into the fridge. “What are you making?” She made a show of sniffing the air. “It smells like a garlic farm exploded in here.”
“We’re making mofongo,” Victor replied with a grin.
“Ah, your favorite.” Carmen pulled an open bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and poured herself a glass. “I can’t count how many times you came to bed reeking of garlic after eating Mami’s mofongo.”
“I can’t help it if Dahlia is an amazing cook.” He shot his ex-mother-in-law a dashing grin, which Dahlia totally fell for. She trilled a little laugh and patted the side of Victor’s face.
“Ay, muchacho, we missed you around here,” she said, then snapped up a spare apron and tossed it to Carmen. “Póntelo, nena. Those plátanos aren’t going to peel themselves.”
“Isn’t this cheating?” Carmen grumbled, but she tied the apron on over her dress. “Victor’s going to have to do all this himself during the competition.”
“It’s not like you’re a master chef either,” Victor pointed out with a smile. “You could also stand to learn.”
“Oh, I know how to make mofongo,” she retorted. “You think I could get away with not helping my mom cook? In this house?”
“So what happened?” He leaned in closer while Dahlia rinsed greens in the sink. “You never cooked for me.”
Carmen gave a sassy little shrug. “Not the best use of my time,” she said primly. “Some of us had to work.”
He leaned his hip on the counter and ducked his head closer to hers. “That’s not fair,” he said in a low voice. “I didn’t become an international pop star by accident. I had demands on my time too.”
Carmen stilled. She set down the plátano in her hands, and with a deliberate movement, turned her face toward his. Their gazes locked, and all traces of teasing and frustration melted from her expression.
This was a big moment. They’d practiced it multiple times during rehearsal, and Ilba had told them it would be a big close-up: the moment when Carmen and Victor connected emotionally. Again.
“I know,” Carmen said in a soft voice. “You’re right. We were both . . . unavailable.”
The moment stretched between them until a loud clang made them both jump. With perfect timing, Dahlia had plunked down a giant soup pot onto the stove.
“Time to start the broth!” she called out cheerfully, oblivious to what she’d interrupted. Eyes on their work, Carmen went back to peeling plantains and Victor resumed crushing garlic.
“Cut!”
Chapter 12
With the help of a real chef from a Caribbean restaurant uptown, they filmed the cooking montage, which involved a lot of chopping, laughing, and tasting. Ashton had grown up in his family’s restaurant, so this was nothing new to him. If anything, he was more comfortable in a kitchen than anywhere else, surrounded by the scents of garlic and cooked plantains.
This part was being filmed MOS—a motor only shot with no sound—so nothing they said would be included in the scene. They were supposed to look like they were having a grand old time, and luckily, Miriam Perez—who played Dahlia—was a comic actress with a ton of improv experience. Miriam kept Jasmine and Ashton grinning the whole time, doing things like feeding Ashton a taste of broth like he was a baby, airplane sounds and all. Ashton hoped that part made the final cut; Yadiel would get a kick out of it. And he had to admit he was having fun stretching his comedy muscles.
Ilba was all about making it as real as possible, so Ashton was tasked with keeping an eye on the broth and giving it the occasional stir. He was standing over the pot, inhaling the aroma that reminded him of home, when Jasmine appeared at his side.
Meeting his eyes, she dipped a fresh spoon into the broth. “If one has garlic, all must have garlic,” she said.
Was she alluding to their upcoming kiss scene? He hoped so, because now it was all he could think about, and he didn’t want to be the only one.
His gaze dropped as she brought the spoon to her mouth, her full lips enveloping the curved metal in a way that sent his heart racing. She swiped her tongue
over her lower lip to catch an errant droplet of broth. Her lashes fluttered as she murmured a deep “mmm.”
Ashton cleared his throat. “I have mouthwash in my dressing room.”
Madre de Dios, he was the fucking worst at this.
“So do I. But still.” Jasmine’s smile was flirtatious as she dropped the spoon into her apron pocket and turned away. Ashton checked the urge to reach out for her. From the corner of his eye, he caught the camera tracking them. Only years of experience prevented him from making eye contact with the camera as he resumed stirring the broth.
Carajo. That was the realest moment they’d shared together as themselves, and it would likely end up in the final cut. Oh well. So be it. Their characters were supposed to be growing closer, right? Flirting and rekindling their abandoned romance. It fit the scene. No one else would think twice.
But Ashton had been acting opposite Jasmine for a few weeks now, and he knew the heat in her eyes, in her voice, had been real. She’d been flirting with him, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Not true. He felt great about it. Too bad he was so out of practice he lacked the ability to flirt back.
It was for the best. The only romance he was here for was the one unfolding in front of the camera.
When the director gave them a break before filming the kiss, Ashton ran back to his dressing room to clean his mouth more thoroughly than he ever had in his life.
He imagined Jasmine in her own dressing room undergoing the same pre-kiss ritual, then gargled with mouthwash one more time.
Out of habit, he checked his phone before heading back to set, and frowned when he saw a voice mail from his father. Holding it to his ear, he listened to the message.
“Hola mijo,” Ignacio began, his typical greeting. “No te preocupes, todo está bien.”
Ashton’s heart sank. Whenever his father started with, “Don’t worry, everything’s fine,” things were not, in fact, fine.
“We’re going to the ER,” Ignacio went on in Spanish. “Yadi fell out of a tree and hurt his wrist. I think it’s just a sprain, but we’re getting X-rays. And your grandfather’s cough still hasn’t gone away, so he’s going to get checked out too. Mi madre is coming along for the ride.”
With a final “don’t worry,” Ignacio ended the message. Ashton squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then called back. It rang, and rang, then went to voice mail. Resisting the urge to call back repeatedly until his father picked up, Ashton sent a text instead, telling Ignacio that he was filming but wanted updates as soon as they were available. Short of running to the airport and hopping a flight to Puerto Rico, there was nothing else he could do.
This wasn’t Yadiel’s first trip to the ER. The kid never stopped climbing, which meant he fell a lot too. But each time, Ashton wished he could be there for the day-to-day bandaging of bumps and bruises. And his grandfather was eighty-three, so even a summer cold was a concern.
Someone knocked. “They’re ready for you,” a PA called out.
“Gracias,” Ashton replied. Coño. While worrying about his family, he’d completely forgotten that he was about to film his first kiss with Jasmine. Out of habit, he reached up to run his hands through his hair, then quickly jerked them away. He didn’t want to explain to the hair stylists why his hair was suddenly a mess.
What he needed to do was calm down, but with his father incommunicado and no time to wait around for a reply, that seemed unlikely to happen.
Nothing to do but show up on set and hope for the best.
Chapter 13
CARMEN IN CHARGE
EPISODE 3
Scene: Carmen and Victor kiss.
INT: Serranos’ kitchen—NIGHT
Ilba gave the cue, and Dahlia picked up the cell phone sitting on the kitchen island. She glanced at the screen. “It’s Tía Jimena. Un momentito.”
She walked to the back of the kitchen and took the stairs, leaving the set.
At the counter, Carmen huffed. “She’ll be gone an hour.”
Victor crossed his arms and slid his hip along the edge of the counter, bringing himself closer to Carmen, smoothly getting inside her personal space without towering over her. He flashed her a charming grin.
“Do you think I have a chance at winning?”
Carmen gazed up at him from where she leaned her elbows on the edge of the island, assessing. “I think so. If you remember every step of the recipe, execute it all perfectly, and finish on time.”
He barked out a laugh. “No pressure.”
And because she understood him and the tremendous standards he held himself to, she repeated his words, but softly, with no sarcasm. “No pressure.”
Some of the tension left Victor’s face as he gazed at her, then he uncrossed his arms, lifting a hand to her cheek. His strong fingers skimmed over her face, curling around her neck. She fought a shiver at his touch.
“You have something here,” he murmured in a low, sweetly seductive voice that had made his first album go platinum. He stroked his thumb in achingly gentle passes over her cheekbone.
Carmen knew it for what it was. A line, an excuse to touch her. The distance between them was killing him, and he couldn’t keep his hands to himself anymore. She knew, because she felt it too.
But she was still going to call him on his bullshit.
“No, I don’t.” Her voice came out confident, but the words vibrated with need.
His surprise showed on his face in the slight widening, then narrowing, of his dark eyes. Maybe she hadn’t been so forward when they’d been together before.
“You’re right,” he said. “You don’t. I just . . . wanted to . . .”
This was it.
His fingers didn’t tighten on the side of her neck. He didn’t pull her. It was important to show that she wanted this as much as he did, that they were on the same page, partners in what was to come.
Carmen rose from where she leaned on the counter, lifting her chin up toward him, reaching for him. He slid his other arm around her waist and used her own forward momentum to bring her closer. In a single smooth move, they were suddenly tangled up in each other, in the heat and closeness, with the comforting smells of home all around them.
For a split second, their eyes met, an unspoken confirmation. Yes, this was happening. Yes, they both wanted this. And then they were leaning in, their mouths meeting in the middle in a crush of lips.
Carmen sank her fingers into Victor’s hair as he fisted his hand in the back of her dress. Lips pressed and nipped, chests heaved, mouths gasped as they shared a passionate kiss that seemed like it could go on forever.
The silence surrounding them was deafening, the only sounds their soft moans and breaths, picked up by the boom mic above them. Their attention was 100 percent focused on each other, except . . .
Except for a nagging feeling that something was missing.
And then:
“Cut! Going again!”
Chapter 14
As soon as Ilba released them, Ashton gave Jasmine a cursory high five and disappeared. Exhausted, Jasmine grabbed her sweater and phone from her actor chair. When she turned it on, the screen lit up with a series of texts from her cousins in their Primas of Power group chat.
Ava: Don’t keep us in suspense! How was the kiss?
Michelle: I bet it was weird.
Ava: Probably, but I still want to know what it was like to kiss . . . EL LEÓN DORADO.
Michelle: And I’m sure EL DUQUE DE AMOR is GREAT at kissing.
Ava: Better than EL MATADOR, certainly.
It went on from there, with the two of them speculating about Ashton’s kissing prowess while sharing emojis related to his many telenovela roles.
With a groan, Jasmine went in search of coffee while she read. Once she had another cup in her possession, she went to her dressing room to reply.
Jasmine: Omg you guys . . .
Michelle: You’re here!
Ava: Was it amazing?
Michelle: Was
it awful?
Jasmine: It was so . . .
God, how could she even describe it?
Jasmine: It was . . . fine.
After a short pause in which Jasmine imagined them howling in disbelief, Michelle’s message popped up first.
Michelle: FINE?
Ava: Fine?????
Michelle: WHAT DO YOU MEAN “FINE”?
Jasmine rubbed her forehead and took a deep chug of coffee before answering.
Jasmine: Rehearsal went well, but then we didn’t get to practice all the way through until it was time to film and then . . .
Michelle: THEN WHAT
Jasmine: And then the director made us shoot the take 17 FUCKING TIMES
She added a skull emoji to the end.
Ava: OH MY GOD
Michelle sent a line of seventeen kiss emojis.
Ava: That’s so many times!
Jasmine: Tell me about it!
My face is sore!
Ava: So what made it just “fine”?
This part was harder to put into words. Ilba hadn’t been able to put her finger on it during filming either; she just knew it wasn’t working. Ofelia had hovered around the edges, darting in occasionally to offer advice and suggestions. She must have asked if Jasmine felt “comfortable” at least fifty times—she’d clearly been prepped by Vera.
