Page 25 of Not Another Love Song

Her chest tightened in that familiar panic. “So he joined just for first chair?” If they’d given concertmaster to him, the Fitzgerald line of first chair violinists would have continued, regardless of his stage name. “Would he have given up ‘Xander Thorne’ and Thorne and Roses?”

“Who knows.” Ava shrugged. “I was shocked by his request, but Nathan and I decided he needed to earn a place, not just waltz in demanding things. He agreed to join the cellos.” Ava’s eyes glazed as Gwen picked at her uneaten cucumber sandwich. “You’ve seen how he’s been this year. There was no possible way he could lead the strings.”

Gwen nodded. Late, arrogant, temperamental. There was no passion for it. Not like he had for the rock group.

“So we could have continued stringing him along, letting him think that if he put in one more good year, he’d have my position when I retired,” Ava said. “Or we could keep it clean. End it swiftly.”

The tears in Ava’s eyes on the day Xander had stormed out of Nathan’s office, the yelling she’d heard inside—“…lead me on?”

Leaning forward on the table, Ava pinned her with her gaze. “You’re very kind for listening to me talk and talk. But I must ask you not to discuss this with other members of the Pops.” Gwen nodded vigorously. “It’s been locked very tight. A few of them know, those who’ve been around since the beginning and could remember Alex sitting on Walter Fitzgerald’s knee during rehearsals.” A soft smile crossed her face before it flickered out. “But they were all instructed to keep it to themselves and to never call him Alex.”

Gwen frowned. “Never? His friends call him Alex.”

Ava tilted her head, and her eyes danced over Gwen’s face. “Oh? Are the two of you…friends?”

A laugh choked out of her throat. “No! No, no. No.” Her cheeks were on fire. “Not in the least. He was a groomsman at that wedding I played, and I overheard. That’s all. Not friendly at all.”

Gwen stuffed a cucumber sandwich in her mouth to keep from talking, and thanked god when the waiter came over to bring more scones.

Later that week, she got a call from Ama Torres, the wedding planner from the New Jersey backyard wedding, who needed a last-minute violin.

“The couple changed their minds and want more sound, and you’re the only violinist I know in New York,” Ama said, chuckling. Gwen thought she could hear something about an apple fritter in the background. “I can finally hear you play! The violin, I mean.”

“I will absolutely take the gig, but I can’t be the only violinist doing weddings,” Gwen said.

“Oh, I have a whole roster in California. A Rolodex actually. It’s super cute. Anyway, yes, you’re my only hope, General Kenobi. Are you old enough for that reference?”

Gwen stuttered, “Are you old enough for that reference?”

“Touché! Okay, I’ll send you the details.” Ama paused. “And let me know if you need a car…or a scheduled Lyft—”

“I won’t be late this time,” Gwen cut in. “I promise. I’ll be four hours early.”

“Oh god, that’s worse. Don’t do that. Hey, what do you get at Dunkin’ Donuts? I’ve only been, like, twice in my life. They have a little one that’s decorated like a sun.”

After listening to Ama order one of everything, Gwen opened her inbox and found a forwarded email with the sheet music for that Saturday. This couple didn’t have the same taste as Sonya and Mac—no Radiohead or Gaga, but instead the usual suspects. “A Thousand Years,” “Marry Me,” “Marry You,” and so on. While Gwen didn’t love the love song selection, she did appreciate getting to play weddings while she still had the time in her schedule. Playing a wedding was like flexing a muscle that you didn’t know was aching. Intimate crowds listening to you play solo without judging your performance against their own metrics was so satisfying.

On Saturday, Gwen took the train out to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, making sure to be fifteen minutes early. One of Ama’s assistants guided her to a lane of cherry trees that were blossoming beautiful pink flowers, scattering small blush-colored petals all over the ceremony chairs and aisle.

“Oh, wow,” Gwen said under her breath, looking up at the canopy of pink.

“I know, right?” Ama appeared next to her, a Bluetooth in her ear and a clipboard tucked under her arm. “When they asked Elliot to do their floral, he was like, ‘Why? It’s practically included.’” Her voice dropped to a low, cranky tone as she impersonated the florist. “But he brought the cherry trees into the reception. You should see the centerpieces. He practically made trees. Anyway, musicians are there,” she said, pointing to the right of the chairs where two music stands and two chairs sat. “Guess who’s running late. As usual.” Ama rolled her eyes.

Gwen lifted her brows. “Who’s…” But as she drifted off, she had a sinking feeling in her gut.

Ama’s gaze landed on something past her shoulder, and her eyes brightened. “Ah! I spoke too soon.”

Gwen turned. Even fifty feet away and with his sunglasses on, she knew his eyes were on her.

Xander Thorne approached them, Stradivarius cello on his back, and for some reason the only thought running through Gwen’s head was that her violin had no business playing love songs with a Stradivarius cello.

“Why is he here?” Gwen blurted. “Sorry, I mean, he doesn’t need to be playing weddings, so…”

“Oh, it’s a favor to me,” Ama said. “My list of musicians in New York needs to grow, I’m aware.”

As Ama went to greet him, Gwen waited for his frown as he realized she was there as his duet partner.

Duet partner. Her knees threatened to give out.

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