Page 29 of Not Another Love Song

“I called you when Xander told me to.” Ama pulled a face. “He’s bossy. I don’t like not being the boss.”

Gwen still wasn’t comprehending the idea that Xander had requested her by name. Was he playing with her head?

“Okay, but that probably wasn’t in the budget? To have two instruments?” She extended the envelope to Ama. “So, if you need to—”

“Okay, I’m only telling you because I’m shipping you two now, but Xander agreed not to take pay, only tip. His stipend went to you. He specifically requested it.”

Gwen’s mouth snapped shut. Her cheeks were flushed red. There was nothing she hated more than taking charity from people. And it seemed that something about her screamed charity to Xander Thorne.

“I understand.” She smiled at Ama. “Thank you so much for this. And please do call me when you’re back in town!”

She waved goodbye, and searched for the train, ready to go home and pamper Jacob with some Shake Shack delivery.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ava and Nathan were waiting to announce Xander Thorne’s departure from the Pops until after the season closed at the May Anniversary Concert. One of the other cellists would step in for the remaining rehearsals and performances, but they’d told him it was temporary, that Xander Thorne’s band had gotten a gig. They didn’t want the donors and subscribers to know quite yet.

Gwen shadowed Ava through every rehearsal leading up to the Anniversary Concert. Word had spread among the orchestra about her promotion, even though the press release hadn’t come out yet.

Despite what Nathan had said, Diane was not excited to be giving up third chair just so Gwen could sit behind Ava while training. And while Henry and the other violinists had congratulated her, she couldn’t help but wonder if they resented her— especially when no one approached her at break time. Did Gwen really deserve first chair? Had some of her colleagues been hoping for their own promotions?

In the week leading up to the concert, Ava and Nathan let her sit in at first chair one rehearsal, and Diane complained that she wasn’t leading enough. Her elbow didn’t pull far enough away, her head didn’t move when she found the downbeat, her shoulders did so little.

As first violin, it was her job to conduct the string section as much as it was Nathan’s. And as a conductor with an instrument to worry about, she had to communicate through her body since her hands could not.

And according to Diane, she was not communicating with much other than her own ass.

“Thank you for the suggestion, Diane,” Nathan said in his friendly tone. “That’s something Gwen can definitely work on.”

He turned to grin at her, and she looked down at her knees. She thought she heard Diane grumble three seats behind her.

Ava assured her that she would be available to her during her first season for any questions or bowing problems. Nevertheless, the stress of it all was making Gwen turn toward solo work, which wouldn’t be helpful in her new duties as first chair. Other than a lead violin solo here and there, Gwen needed to be focusing on ensemble work and leading her section. Still, solo work soothed her nerves.

Strangely, it was the Chaconne by Vitali that she kept coming back to—particularly the arrangement she’d found Alex Fitzgerald playing on YouTube. It wasn’t the popular arrangement, but Gwen liked it so much more. Once she’d memorized it, she would turn on his performance and watch him play it. She’d mute the volume and play with him, eyes on his shoulders, his bowing, his fingering. She tried to follow his head, even taking down her hair to try a now infamous Xander Thorne hair flip.

She’d hurt her neck.

It wasn’t natural. Or not to her, at least. To Alex Fitzgerald…it was artistry.

She watched as he closed his eyes, lips tightening over the one singular place in the entire piece that wasn’t intoned perfectly. She wondered if he’d focused on that moment. If he’d obsessed over it for days after, thinking about pulling the video and trying again.

The video was from ten years ago. He’d been sixteen during that recording (according to an embarrassing amount of googling on her part). He’d started playing violin eight years sooner than she had. He’d mastered one instrument more than she had—possibly two, as an Instagram video of Thorne and Roses with Xander Thorne messing around on the drums indicated. He was only about four years older than she was, but he was already one of the most accomplished musicians she’d ever watched.

The account that posted the Chaconne videos had also posted almost eighty other videos of Alex working on songs. The username didn’t seem like it belonged to Alex, and the captions talked about him in third person. Alex Fitzgerald, age 15. Bartók Violin Concerto No. 2. See 13:52 for something really impressive. She’d watched them all at least three times.

She even searched Reddit, finding rumors and theories on why Alex Fitzgerald had disappeared. Plenty of internet sleuths had figured out that Xander Thorne was the gangly teenage violinist, especially noting that there was limited information on Xander’s background before Thorne and Roses.

Gwen sighed.

She couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Ava—how he’d wanted first chair badly enough to endure playing an entire season across from the woman he refused to call his mother. Would he have even given up Thorne and Roses to do so?

And how much did he resent her for taking that away from him?

Before she could stop herself, she looked up Thorne and Roses’ live performances. She watched him break bow strings, sweat, and flip his hair around. She listened to the crowd scream for him. There was one video where Xander had to take the mic to talk to the crowd while Dom, the violinist, solved a sound issue. He jokingly narrated the moment, teasing Dom for not knowing how to plug into an amp. Dom told him to fuck off, and Xander’s lips lifted in a small smile.

Almost like the twitch of his lips she’d noticed as he spoke to her upstairs at the wedding. The barely-there smile as he slowly packed up his cello in the rehearsal room. Like someone who’d forgotten how.

Gwen watched it again.

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