Page 31 of Not Another Love Song

She felt the blood leave her face. Her legs were full of air, the oxygen in her lungs slowly draining into her thighs. Gwen blinked at him as the crowd began applauding, bursting into her ears in spurts of noise in between the pounding in her head.

She knew she looked ridiculous, standing there with her violin hanging from her fingertips, white as a ghost. Nathan was applauding. Ava was applauding. Even fucking Diane was applauding—albeit out of obligation because the entirety of Carnegie Hall was making noise for her.

Nathan whispered something to Ava, out of the mic, and Ava smiled and nodded at her.

Gwen turned to the crowd. She mimicked Ava’s easy grace with a smile that tugged on her eyes. She placed the violin on her clavicle, and the crowd quieted.

It wasn’t until she brought the bow up that she realized she had no idea what she was going to play.

The Beethoven concerto popped into her head, but this was bigger than that. Bigger than the same old song she’d been playing for ten years.

And suddenly, the bow was against the strings, and Vitali’s Chaconne poured through her. It wasn’t as perfect as Alex Fitzgerald’s videos, but the bow synced with her thundering heart, and her fingers flew over the neck of the violin with a dexterity she’d been practicing for weeks.

Her nerves had set the tempo a few beats too fast. She tried to breathe into the held notes to get a sense of the pace back.

She played through the end of the insanely tricky leggiero section, and then dragged the bow across the violin one final time, ending her performance. She couldn’t help but look to Ava first as she opened her eyes.

She caught the moment before Ava set her features into a proud grin. Her lips had turned down, eyes stuck on Gwen’s fingers with a haunted expression, like trying to place a drifting scent from your childhood. A jolt of panic ran through her when Gwen realized she might recognize it as something her son used to play. But then it was gone as Ava smiled brightly.

And like running into a brick wall, the sound returned to the room, and Gwen almost stumbled backward at the push of it. She looked to the audience, catching Ms. Michaels and Dr. Bergman standing in their seats.

They all were. Carnegie Hall on their feet for her.

No one had told her applause was something you felt. And that when it was thundering, it was only a buzzing. Like your ears protected you from the sweet pain of it.

Gwen took a small bow. Her first solo bow onstage at Carnegie Hall.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The Manhattan Pops knew how to throw an after-party. The Plaza Hotel opened their doors, and their downstairs bars and food, for the Pops after every concert of the season.

Gwen found Jacob and Declan standing by the bar. Declan squealed when he saw her.

“You got to play a solo!” He kissed both of her cheeks. “That’s so impressive!” He was wearing a floral-patterned suit and blue suede shoes.

“Yeah, it was unexpected.” She took a champagne glass from Jacob.

“You were great, Gwen,” Jacob assured her.

“The way you just played it from memory…” Declan shook his head at her in awe. “I was just like…how?”

Declan was sweet and very supportive, but he knew next to nothing about orchestral music. He was a lawyer of some kind, and she was shocked he could even get away from the office to come to this.

“How many times did you fall asleep?” Gwen asked over her glass.

“Only twice tonight,” Declan answered with an honest grin. “But not while you played! Promise!”

A board member pulled Gwen away after that, taking her arm and introducing her to a few people from New York magazine. Gwen was surprised how many subscribers and donors went out of their way to shake her hand and congratulate her. She had to answer all the usual questions over and over again, her own name and age becoming abstract words and phrases to her in the process.

A photographer floated by, capturing her, Jacob, and Declan several times before ushering her to stand near Nathan and Ava. After every single arrangement of three people one could imagine, Nathan left to shake hands with more donors, and Ava excused herself to powder her nose.

Gwen located Mei across the room at one of the food stations, stuffing her face full of bruschetta. Just as she moved to join her, a man with thin glasses and thick black brows stepped in her path.

“Miss Jackson,” he said. His voice was silky, and his hand was soft when he extended it to her. “Calvin Lorenz. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hello.” She smiled at him. “I’m sorry, I don’t know all the faces I should yet. Are you on the board?”

“No, not at all.” He tilted his head and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “I saw the performance tonight. You were brilliant. Congratulations on your new role at the Manhattan Pops.”

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