Page 1 of Not Another Love Song

CHAPTER ONE

When Gwen was in high school, she studied a line of Shakespeare that said music was the food of love. At sixteen, reading this for the first time, Gwen thought maybe her love life was on the right track then. Already five years into her violin studies and halfway through the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto, she would go to Juilliard, fall in love with another musician, and—as they say—make sweet music for the rest of her life.

Now, after eleven years of nothing but violin and exactly zero great love affairs, she realized that Shakespeare might be full of shit.

The Uber driver slowed and turned around to her in the back seat. “Is this it?”

Gwen pulled her cheap headphones out of one ear, pausing the electric cello humming through the Imagine Dragons cover, and looked out the tinted window toward the house.

Well, mansion.

More like a palace, really.

Her eyes followed the catering staff and floral assistants walking up the driveway, landing on the valet walking up to the car. A freaking valet? In the middle of New Jersey?

“I guess so!” she said. “Thanks so much. Five stars all around.”

She grabbed her violin case, adjusted her black dress, and slid out of the sedan, letting the valet know she was staff and he didn’t have to hold the door for her.

Gwen stared up at the two stories of white brick that sprawled over an open lawn. It might have taken up half a city block in Manhattan, but in the New Jersey suburbs it was majestic. Clutching her violin case close to her hip, Gwen brushed her dark auburn bangs out of her eyes and followed the other staff up the driveway to the backyard.

Or park.

A national landmark, probably.

She stood gaping at the soft grass, meticulously placed trees, pond and—swans? Live swans? She’d done backyard weddings before, but not in backyards like this. To the left, close to the three-car garage, the reception area had been set up with a dance floor and twenty round tables. Ahead of her, a beautiful floral archway stood proudly in front of the rows of chairs, and to the right of it, a black Steinway grand piano had been rolled onto the lawn. A young dark-skinned man waved her over from behind the piano—Jacob, her roommate, best friend, and duet partner.

Gwen checked the time on her phone as she strode over to him.

3:07 p.m.

She was never late. This was mortifying.

New Jersey Transit had not been kind to her, and she’d needed to call that Uber from the-middle-of-nowhere-Jersey just to arrive at a decent time. The ride ended up costing her half of what she was being paid for this gig, but if she ruined their reputation for other upscale weddings, she would never forgive herself.

“Welcome home, dahling,” Jacob teased as she came closer. He looked dashing in his black button-up and gray slacks, sleeves rolled up his forearms.

“Dahling, I want this house,” she crooned in the grand, transatlantic accent she used whenever they walked through the nice neighborhoods. “Tell Harold to put in an offer. I don’t care about the cost!”

“I looked it up on Zillow on the way here,” he said, brown eyes bright with hunger. “Eight bedrooms, Gwen. Eight.”

“Price?”

“I can’t tell you. You’ll pass out.”

Gwen snorted and pulled out her binder. Her music stand was already set up, as well as a chair for her, which answered the question of whether they preferred for her to sit or stand.

Jacob had only secured this gig last week. The original duo had canceled due to one of them having a broken wrist, and the wedding planner’s assistant had reached out to them to fill the last-minute opening. Thankfully Gwen wasn’t one to have plans on a Saturday afternoon, because the pay was outrageously good.

“The wedding planner just checked in. I told her your Uber was down the street, so I’m glad I didn’t lie about that.”

“Is she mad?” Gwen popped open her violin case.

“No, but there’s this bridesmaid who’s doing too much,” Jacob said, waving his hand in front of his face dismissively. “She keeps asking why I’m not playing yet, and I’m like, ‘Why don’t we all stay in our own lanes today, Chelsea.’”

A laugh burst out of her. “Did you actually say that?” Gwen asked.

“You bet I did. She needs to fix whatever is on top of her head before she asks questions over here.”

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