Page 58 of Not Another Love Song

He grinned and chucked her chin.

In no time at all, the stage manager was calling her to the stage, a bright light was on her face, and a crowd of thousands was applauding her. She smiled up to the top tier, where the high school students who got in for free sat.

She moved to her chair—her chair. And just across from her sat Xander Thorne in his tuxedo. Gwen looked away before her eyes lingered too long.

Grinning at the first oboe, she asked for the A. She lifted her violin to her chin, and listened as the most beautiful sound swept through her ears. An orchestra tuning. Her orchestra.

She almost didn’t catch it in her haze. Like a fly buzzing in a quiet room. Or an itch between your shoulder blades. The orchestra quieted, but Gwen stood there, staring at them.

Someone was out of tune. She felt it in her blood. Just the tiniest bit out of sync. Somewhere in the second violins. Or maybe the clarinets. No, it was strings.

She was standing there, with her back turned to three thousand people, waiting for someone to tell her what to do. It was her job to make sure the orchestra was in tune. And maybe no one would really notice if one violinist was off. But their partners would. And the entire performance would be spent trying to retune them mid-song.

She’d never in her life seen a first chair ask for the tuning a second time. But she’d heard what she’d heard, right? Or maybe it was nothing.

Nathan wasn’t here. He was waiting backstage for her to sit down. But a familiar pull tugged at her, turning her eyes to him, like a string on her violin, vibrating, drawing her to Xander.

His eyes were on the second violins, brows drawn together and eyes searching. And that settled it.

“Roger,” she said. And the first oboist jerked his head to her. “Again please?”

The crowd shifted behind her. And the orchestra looked among themselves for the traitor. And when they played the A again, she watched an older gentleman in the second violin section twist a peg, tightening his instrument. He looked at her and nodded, blushing slightly.

The instruments quieted, and Gwen bowed her head, thanking them. As she took her seat, her eyes drifted to Xander, sitting across from her with his Stradivarius between his thighs, watching her. A small twitch of his lips that she felt humming in her chest.

Her body heated, and she looked away to find Nathan entering.

Nathan introduced her to the crowd after the second song. She stood and waved. The orchestra applauded with the audience, and she saw from the corner of her eye a pair of large hands clapping around the neck of a cello.

Xander Thorne played his solo as the second-to-last song in the first act. He stood, turning his chair forward to face the audience, and when Nathan introduced him, Gwen heard girls screaming from the top tiers.

Nathan had some lovely words of praise for Xander, but she saw Xander’s lips press together, annoyed. Nathan introduced the song as Fugue No. 1, Unaccompanied.

Gwen blinked at his profile as he settled in the chair. She didn’t know why she had expected something like “Autumn Rain” or “First Beginnings” or something awfully sappy for a Xander Thorne original. Of course, he would choose something complicated, with classical influences, rich with meaning and meant to fly over the heads of ninety percent of the audience.

He still played the same mistakes she had performed. Like his original version of the song that he’d copied into sheet music had evaporated. His jaw was set, and his eyes closed, much more connected than his performance for the orchestra earlier in the week. His head moved, free of his neck and shoulders, soft curls in his hair flowing.

The raindrop section…fingerpicking his way through the complex notes. It was so much more romantic on his Stradivarius than on Ruby. Only pure strings and echoes, nothing diluted through speakers.

He flipped his hand around the bow in a beautiful dance, ending the fingerpicking and moving toward the storm. Her body throbbed, remembering. She dragged in a trembling breath as he approached the end, his shoulders shaking and tensing.

A pause. And she waited for the final note, resolving and pulling pleasure through her veins.

It never came.

The bow lifted from the strings. And he opened his eyes, bowing his head to the audience as they came to understand that the song was over. A slow building applause.

Gwen felt…angry. Like he’d—like they’d—

Well, honestly…like he’d stopped right before she came.

She glared down at the last song of act one, ignoring his large body as he repositioned his chair, facing her again. She felt the song still buzzing in her.

Maybe he didn’t equate the song with her. Maybe it wasn’t all about her. It was “Fugue No. 1,” after all, possibly the first of many. Maybe he was just setting up for more sections.

She still felt overwhelmed with…

She concentrated on rage. That was an easier emotion.

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