Not Another Love Song

Chapter Six

On the last Monday in April, Ava asked Gwen to afternoon tea at the top of Bergdorf Goodman—two firsts for Gwen. She knew that Ava was only fulfilling her promise to mentor her and answer any questions she might have, but Gwen couldn’t help feeling like Ava knew that she knew.

Gwen’s leg was bouncing under the table by the time the finger sandwiches arrived. Ava had already talked through her process for submitting the bow markings to the music arranger, given Gwen tips on building a healthy working relationship with Nathan, and was now going over interpersonal interactions within the strings.

“Like for example,” Ava said, pressing her cloth napkin to the corner of her mouth, “this year’s Christmas concert. If you remember, the cellos and basses were…less than enthusiastic about the last-minute changes.”

Gwen did remember. The guest singer for the holiday concert had gotten laryngitis, and a different vocalist with a different range had been brought in the day before.

“When Xander spoke out about ‘unnecessary’ extra rehearsals, I had to take him aside and remind him that not all string players are as adept as he is, and they needed more time with the material.”

Ava plucked a cucumber sandwich from the tray.

Gwen felt her eye twitch.

“So,” she continued, “sometimes there’s a bit of coddling you need to do.” Ava turned a mischievous smile on her. “For bratty children.”

Gwen choked on her sip of tea. Hot liquid sputtered from her lips. “I’m sorry,” she coughed.

Ava called for water with a flick of her finger, and Gwen wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

“Wrong pipe?”

Gwen stared at her through watering eyes. “Actually,” she said, “I know. About…Alex.”

Ava’s brows lifted. She sat back in her chair with a polite smile. “Ah. My bratty child, yes.” She paused for the waiter to fill her glass before continuing. “I’m surprised someone had the gall to gossip.”

“It wasn’t gossip, actually. How I found out was completely random. I won’t tell anyone. I didn’t know it was a big secret.”

Ava hummed and looked out the window. “Believe me, I would have no problem telling the world. It’s him who has the problem.”

“He wants it hidden?”

“He doesn’t want to be known as ‘Ava Fitzgerald’s son,’” she said with a faraway look. “He made that perfectly clear.”

A sudden thought rattled through her—how lovely it would be to be Ava Fitzgerald’s child. Images flashed behind her eyes of violin lessons and recitals and symphony records playing on lazy Sundays…all things she would never have with her own mother.

She shook off the dream and asked cautiously, “He studied violin first, didn’t he?”

Ava nodded. “He was excellent. More precise than I ever was and more determined than any child I’d seen. He’d have these tantrums if he missed a note or played under pitch, starting over from the top until it was perfect.”

Gwen remembered the Bach Cello Suites, the morning after the wedding—the way he’d started over and over.

“Mabel trained him, actually.”

Her fingers paused mid-reach for the sugar. “Mabel? My Mabel?”

“Mm-hmm. My father had trained me, and I knew what kind of strain that put on our relationship, so I wanted him to have a tutor who couldn’t ground him.” Ava smiled.

Gwen’s mind was running a mile a minute. Mabel had never mentioned that she’d taught violin to Ava’s son. “For how long?”

“Gosh, almost twelve years, I guess. Mabel started with him at three. She never treated him like a child, always expecting just as much from him as she did a twelve-year-old student. He really liked that, especially as he got older.”

Desperately running numbers in her head, Gwen tried to figure out if Xander had ever been at Mabel’s shop when Gwen was just learning.

“But around middle school, I started to pull him back a bit,” Ava continued. “I had grown up in the spotlight too. My father and my uncle were both well known, and I was always on display because of it. I didn’t want all of that attention on Alex before he could decide on it for himself.” Ava turned a wry smile on her. “But you try telling a kid that he has to go back to seventh grade after touring with Joshua Bell.”

Gwen’s stomach flipped. She couldn’t even imagine.

“He became difficult after that. Moody,” Ava continued, staring at a point over Gwen’s shoulder, and Gwen had the feeling that this was something bottled tight—something Ava didn’t speak much about. “I sent him to live with his dad in Jersey every summer, just to get out of the city, away from the pressure of it all. He was still set on violin before college applications, so I introduced him to the deans of a few programs. He got into Juilliard, went for a year, and then dropped out.”

Gwen jerked, her teacup clicking against the saucer. “He dropped out?”

Ava’s lips pursed, and she nodded. “I didn’t hear from him again. I was on the verge of hiring a detective like in some bad television plot, when he popped up as ‘Xander Thorne,’ the cellist.” She rubbed her wrist, as if all the pain lived there. “One of his Juilliard teachers had talked him into trying rock music, making a name for himself in a different way. He became Alex’s agent, and they created his music group.”

She took a sip from her teacup, and then said, “Alex called me shortly after he resurfaced. He told me he didn’t want the Fitzgerald name anymore.” Glancing at Gwen, she clarified, “We’d raised him with my last name once he started playing violin. His dad agreed it was smartest for his career.” She cleared her throat. “But he gave it up. And he made it clear that I wasn’t to publicly refer to him as my son. ‘Alex Fitzgerald’ went to Juilliard and was never heard from again.”

It was quiet except for the tinkle of porcelain cups against saucers. Gwen tried to imagine what it was that Xander found so offensive about his mother, their legacy, the violin…

Gwen didn’t know what it was like to be part of a legacy. She had no father to speak of, and only generation after generation of cancer on her mother’s side. When she was going through her mother’s belongings at ten years old, she’d realized that she wanted her life to be more than just “stuff” when she died. She wanted to be remembered for something.

“I’m sorry,” Ava said. “I didn’t mean to lay all this on you.” She straightened her napkin on her lap and brushed her lashes.

“No, not at all. Can I ask something, though?” Gwen’s leg started bouncing again. Ava nodded. “If he wanted to distance himself from you so much, why did he start at the Pops?”

“He called me a little over a year ago. Said he wanted first chair. He was very close to my uncle, who had been first chair since the founding of the orchestra. Alex used to idolize Uncle Walt, and Walt had told him that one day he would be first chair, just like him. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was something Alex had pinned a dream on.”

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.

She went to the chairs set aside for them and started setting up her music, unable to listen as he complained to Ama about her unsuitability.

It wasn’t until she opened her violin case that she realized she was about to play violin in front of Alex Fitzgerald. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to get control of her breathing.

She heard the swish of a cello case being unstrapped from a muscular back. Sucking in a deep breath, she opened her eyes and turned to him just as he pulled his Ray-Bans off. His gaze was locked on her.

“Um, Ama called me. She said they wanted a violinist on this too,” she explained, as if she were a child caught with her fingers in the cookie jar.

He nodded, and she tried to read his expression. She thought maybe his jaw was tense. Or maybe that was just his jaw. Were his eyes focused on her because he wanted to intimidate her?

“So you said yes to first chair,” he said flatly. He paused, like he’d asked a question she should answer.

“Yes.” She sat and rifled through her music pages. “They offered it to me, and I said yes.”

She listened to him set up, aware of every breath he took, every slide of his fingers over the neck of his nine-hundredthousand-dollar cello. She wanted to ask about “Alex.” She wanted to ask what it was like growing up as Ava Fitzgerald’s child. She wanted to know why he would want to go back to violin after such a successful cello career, why first chair meant that much to him.

“Why?” he asked, and she had to remember what they were talking about.

“I…it’s an incredible opportunity. How could I say no?” His gaze was sinking into hers, burrowing. “Even if I’m just a pretty face on the brochure,” she said, punctuating it with a page turn. He didn’t take her bait. “So, you’ve always wanted to be first chair of an orchestra?” She searched for the accusation, like he was saying he could prove he wanted it more. But it wasn’t there.

“Not always, no. I just want…stability. A career.”

“And you have no interest in standing out? Being special?” He glanced at her, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

Her brows drew together. “I will stand out. I’ll have solos as first chair—”

“Having solos doesn’t make you special, Gwen,” he said softly. The sound of her name in his low voice confused her. “It makes you first chair.”

She parsed his words, trying to figure out how much he was insulting her, if at all. Ama interrupted her thoughts.

“Hey!” She was rushing by with an armful of programs. “I know you two didn’t get to rehearse, but you work together already, right? You good?”

Gwen smiled at her. “Yep.” No point in mentioning that, no, Xander Thorne and she didn’t “work together.” Not really.

Ama scurried away, looking like she could really use four extra sets of hands, and Gwen turned her attention to the music binder. If they were really about to do this, she figured she might as well try to make nice.

“Did you practice, or are you just going to wing it?” she asked lightly.

“Did you?” His eyes were bright with something.

“Yeah, I practiced.” She swallowed.

He ran his cube of rosin over his bowstrings, and she watched the vein in his arm pop for absolutely no reason at all.

A soft wind pushed through the cherry trees, and pink flowers rained down softly.

“Is there anything you’d like to go over before the guests get here?” she asked. “What tempo for ‘Marry You’?”

“You tell me, concertmaster.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

And she realized that he was going to let her lead.

Because she was first chair.

Gwen thought her gulp was probably audible. She was so, so glad he wasn’t going to be in her string section next year. This was torment enough.

She set the pace for the Bruno Mars song, and brought her violin up to her shoulder—which was already incredibly tense at the idea that she was about to play violin in front of Xander Thorne. Cello started the arrangement, quick percussive pulls, almost like a bass guitar. Xander’s eyes were on her, not the music, and she hoped that meant he was watching her for tempo.

She came in on top of him as the voice. She would switch with him later, but for now, she was lead, her violin singing as Bruno Mars did. Keeping her eyes glued to the music, she followed the violin line with precision. He kept tempo below her, powering through complicated rhythmic sections.

As they approached the chorus, the lines came together and they played the melody in harmony. The tension in her shoulders was traveling down her arms, affecting her grip and the way she moved the bow. Gwen lifted her eyes to him.

His gaze slid over her fingers, up her arm to her neck. She could almost feel it on her skin. When his eyes met hers, he held her there, and she felt pinned. He was focused, as though trying to solve an equation.

Gwen’s stomach twisted. She wished she were playing better in front of him. She tried to roll her shoulders back, working to release the tension mid-song, but it just wrecked her concentration.

By the time “Marry You” was done, she felt like crying. She had gotten worse and worse, tighter and tighter, the longer it went on.

She reached forward and turned the page, ready to start “Unchained Melody.” There were two early guests sitting in the chairs, smiling over at them. Gwen gave a small grin back, and turned to Xander. “Ready?”

He was staring at her like she was a dead fish that had washed up on his perfect, white sand beach. And she felt like exactly that. His lips parted to say something, ask something, but then he stopped himself and narrowed his eyes at her. “Yes.”

Gwen took a deep breath. She was first chair. They’d given her first chair. She’d earned this over him. No matter what he thought of her.

She cued him for “Unchained Melody.” They’d start together, and then he’d take over the broken chords, finger-picking the cello like a stand-up bass as she took melody. Gwen tried to breathe. She did marginally better, but she still felt like an amateur playing next to a Stradivarius. And that was exactly what she was.

When they concluded the piece, there were seven more people in the chairs. Ama gave her a happy thumbs-up.

She could feel his gaze on her as she turned the page. The next song was “We Found Love” by Rihanna. “Ready?”

When he didn’t respond, she chanced a glance at him.

His eyes were still narrowed at her. Suddenly he reached out, grabbing her sheet music.

“Let’s trade.”

Gwen’s mouth dropped open. “Trade? What do you mean?”

He plopped her violin music in front of himself, and stretched to drop his cello music on her music stand.

“You know how to transpose by sight,” he said.

“That—that doesn’t mean I want to,” she hissed, trying not to catch the attention of the group of guests entering.

“It’ll be fun,” he said with a smirk, and her pulse raced at the sight of it.

Gwen searched for Ama, like she would swoop in and save her from this colossally bad idea.

Xander counted her in. She had seconds to understand the quick rhythms and places where the cello would normally support the violin melody.

Her bow lifted, and she followed his cello line, turning off her brain and letting herself play. He joined her in two measures on what should have been her violin line, yellow diamonds in the sky.

Her eyes moved over the page, following the notes, her brain unable to do anything else. She echoed him at one point, and the only thing she could think was, This is gorgeous.

The cello line—her, on violin—was supposed to take the section in the song where the techno beat lifts, the part that you jump to in clubs—if Gwen were the kind of person that went to clubs. The bow danced over her violin, climbing the scale. She had no idea what she was doing, but she knew this song.

She looked up, and Xander, forgoing the sheet music altogether, was focused on her. He was under her, shivering through the same lift. His lips were parted, and his breath was shallow. It was the closest she’d been to him as he played like Xander Thorne, bow strings breaking, strong body moving quickly to the beat.

She watched as his eyes dropped to her mouth.

They spun into the chorus again, and she didn’t need the sheet music anymore. The song was repetitive in that way that danceable pop songs were. She followed his lead, and he followed hers. Gwen didn’t need to show off, she just needed to keep playing like this.

Like it was water, flowing through her.

After another verse and chorus, Xander nodded at her, and they slid their bows together to an ending.

Every hair on her body stood on end. A breeze rippled across her, and she felt the cherry blossoms land against her skin like a kiss.

And she held Xander’s eyes.

A buzzing sound to her left pulled her attention. The thirty or so guests who had shown up were applauding.

She was slammed back into the present, realizing that they’d just gone rogue on the wedding set list, in a way. She found Ama in the crowd. She was jumping up and down, joining the applause.

Gwen looked back to Xander. There was that barely-there smile again. She tore her eyes away and turned the page, but then suddenly he started “Every Breath You Take,” which was four songs ahead.

He watched her, not needing the music. And she understood.

She lifted her bow, not needing the music either.

That’s how they played the rest of the wedding. The bride walked down the aisle to Elton John, and Gwen held Xander’s gaze the entire time, neither of them needing anything but each other. When the ceremony began, Gwen’s heart was pounding, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She felt like she’d run miles. Or like she’d…well.

Her body pulsed, and she knew Xander’s eyes were on her the entire ceremony. She could feel his gaze like a fingertip trailing down her spine, lower and lower, closer and closer to where she wanted him.

When Gwen took the cue from Ama to start the recessional song, she nodded at him, and they started “All You Need Is Love.” It was a ridiculous song to be playing while she felt tight and itchy, like she desperately needed some alone time.

She glanced at Xander in the middle of it, and he was playing lazily, but with precision. His fingers were loose on his bow, and his body rocked with the music. She stared at him, trying to memorize the way he could make music look so easy, even as a delicious drop of sweat rolled down the side of his neck.

When the song ended, Gwen couldn’t meet his eye. A few of the guests came over to shake their hands, and then she started to pack up. When she couldn’t take the silence anymore, she said, “To be honest, I liked Mac and Sonya’s selections better.”

There was a pause as he popped open his case. “Why?”

“Sonya and Mac had some good substitutes for love songs. I guess I don’t like songs about love that much.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t really…They don’t feel real.” She gestured to “Your Song” by Elton John, the bride’s processional. “It’s like ‘I wrote you this song to tell you I love you. By the way, I also hope to make millions off of it, so thanks, sweetheart.’ It feels very transactional.”

She glanced up at him, and he tilted his head, watching her. She continued, “I guess I like ‘Creep’ because it’s like, ‘I’m a weirdo and you ran out on me; at least I ought to make money off of it.’ I don’t know. Maybe I’m not explaining it well.”

“Anti-love songs,” he said.

Her eyes snapped up to him. That’s exactly what she called them herself. “Yeah.”

His tongue brushed across his lower lip before he pressed his lips together. She felt her skin heat.

She had to look away from his mouth. “They have better orchestrations anyway,” she added.

“You just like minor keys,” he teased, putting his music binder away.

She laughed. “Maybe.”

Xander stood, tugging the cello onto his back. She waited for him to say something. She would even take a critique at this point.

“Excellent, you two!” Ama popped up behind him. She handed him an envelope that presumably had his money and tip. She extended one to Gwen too. “Like, I know nothing about what you just did, but I think it was the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life. Even Elliot said you were good. And if you knew him, you’d know that speaking out loud only happens for a reason.”

She brought Gwen in for a tight hug, asking if she had time for drinks when she was back in New York next month. Gwen answered, watching as Xander walked away through the cherry blossoms.

“Thank you so much for thinking of me, Ama. This gig was great,” Gwen said.

“Sure! And actually…” Ama checked over her shoulder and whispered, “it was Xander who requested you.”

She lifted her eyebrows in a way that Gwen thought was supposed to mean something, but she was still stuck on the previous words.

“He…I thought you said the bride and groom wanted more sound.” Her chest started to squeeze.

“They did.” Ama smiled. “After Xander Thorne, cellist rock god, said he needed a violin.”

“And you…you called me because I’m the only one you knew…” She trailed off.

“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.