Cello Suite No. 1
Alex had been called many things in his life, but humble was never one of them. He received his first standing ovation at three years old and never looked back. He was told by his parents, his music teachers, his agent, and complete strangers that he was the best in the world. That his name would be referenced among the likes of Joshua Bell, Yo-Yo Ma, and Nicola Benedetti one day.
For years, he’d been given compliments because he deserved them. He’d been given solos because he earned them. He’d been given opportunities because he worked for them. He was the best. And that was fact.
He had never spent more than a few seconds over the course of the past twenty-six years questioning that.
But being utterly hypnotized by a nobody, playing “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” of all things, was unsettling.
To hear that she’d received no formal training was maddening.
And it added insult to injury to see her sitting in the fourth row of a pops orchestra.
Normally Alex didn’t care what other people were doing in the music industry. It didn’t affect him until it was time to record with them. When you were the best, you could afford to stop worrying about who was coming for your spot.
Gwen Jackson.
That was her name. He’d found it on the orchestra roster. Right next to her phone number and email address. His fingers had twitched before deleting the document altogether so it wasn’t a temptation.
He’d tracked her during rehearsal yesterday and realized exactly why she was in the fourth row. She had perfected the art of not standing out.
Unfortunate.
Alex approached his meeting with Nathan to discuss his contract renewal without a worry in his head. And even when they’d let him go, he’d at least found solace in the idea that there was no way they could possibly replace him.
It wasn’t until he’d seen her sitting in the hallway outside of Nathan’s office that he finally felt for the first time what other musicians felt when he walked into a room.
Because if anyone could topple him, it was Gwen Jackson. If anyone could take away his opportunities, it was a girl with a gorgeous face, perfect form, and an unpolished performance. Someone younger. Someone shinier.
He hoped he’d imagined his fascination with her from the wedding. He hoped that as he sat in the balcony at Carnegie Hall he would be able to pinpoint the ways in which she couldn’t fill his shoes.
She’d played Beethoven poorly, as expected.
Well, it was actually great, but not marvelous. And he could hear that Dr. Bergman agreed.
And then Nathan gave her the sheet music, and as she played, Alex realized that if she ever got out of her head long enough to play her violin like that, like the rest of the world didn’t matter, he was fucked.
The rest of his life would be spent chasing her, trying to catch up.
Because Alex had traveled the entire world by the age of twenty-six, and Gwen Jackson was the first person he’d found who could actually do what he did. And possibly do it better.
Only she didn’t know it yet. And that—that—was the terrifying part.