Chapter Fifteen
She had a week to cool off. A week to focus on the next concert. A week to spend time with Jacob and concentrate on being young in the city.
And then on Thursday, Thorne and Roses posted a #throw-backthursday on their Instagram: Mac and Xander having a push-up competition from two years ago. They were shirtless, for reasons Gwen could not fathom. She was even able to ignore Chelsea’s annoying shrieking in the background counting, “Eighty-eight! Eighty-nine!”
Mac flopped to the ground at ninety, but Xander pushed through to one hundred and two. Then he stood quickly, panting and pushing his hair back, to collect his twenty bucks as he bumped shoulders with Dom, the violinist.
Gwen had closed her app. Picked up her pencil. Twirled it for fourteen minutes. Watched the video again. And then dug through her emails to find the orchestra roster with everyone’s contact info, thumb hovering over the Gmail address next to “Xander Thorne—First Cello.”
She turned her phone off and went for a walk.
On Saturday before bed, she lay twisted up in a blanket scrolling through Instagram. She was in a deep dive, watching Xander Thorne’s reels from 2021 when he’d just bought Ruby. She still hadn’t hit the follow button out of principle, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy his content.
She listened to him show off, playing his new cello. She scrolled back to rewatch one and tried to turn the sound on.
She tapped twice.
She gasped, shooting up in bed as a red heart exploded over the video.
“No, no, no, no!”
@GwenNoFear had just liked @Xander_Thorne’s video. From 2021.
She quickly untapped, heart disappearing.
He’d still get the notification, but hopefully his 230,000 followers had been too much to handle and he’d turned them off.
“Fuck.” She ran her hand over her face.
Liking a video he posted last week would be one thing. It implied that she had just found his account. Liking a video from 2021 implied that she was twenty minutes into some grade A Instagram stalking.
Gwen groaned and pushed her face into her pillow.
She woke up the next morning to one new follower:
@Xander_Thorne.
The next rehearsal snuck up on her. Very abruptly it was time to decide what to wear, how to act, how much makeup—or no makeup.
Because nothing was different.
She’d kissed his cheek, for god’s sake.
Gwen pressed her lips together, savoring the memory. And then she jumped, pulling her phone to check the camera for the rose-colored lipstick she’d applied.
And unapplied, and reapplied.
She’d decided on simple makeup with only lipstick; hair up, but messy. Like the lipstick was an afterthought. Like, no big deal, it’s just lipstick, you know? Everybody just chill.
She’d added a selfie to her story that morning, feeling the sudden urge to post more pics to her Instagram, especially after the rampage she’d gone on Sunday morning, deleting all pictures of funny faces or hideous prom dresses that she and Jacob had shopped for five years ago.
Tugging the door to the rehearsal room open, she choked on her air when she saw Alex already there, laughing with one of the other cellists. Twenty minutes early.
He didn’t look over at her. In fact, his back was to the door, his cello case propped open and his sheet music ready. She scurried to her chair, waving hello to a few piccolos, and dropping her bag in front of her stand, laying her violin case down. It was only then that she noticed the cup.
An iced latte sat next to her chair leg, sweating onto the floor. Scratched in Sharpie on the side was the name “Gwen.” She blinked down at it, still bent over from opening her case.
Alex laughed at something in his conversation, and the sound rattled her ribs. Xander. She needed to call him Xander.
She picked up the cup and wrapped straw placed next to it. A “V” decorated the label, meaning…an iced vanilla latte. Her exact order from the café where they’d had their interview last week.
Gwen sat in her chair, looking around for gossips and nosy neighbors as she punctured the lid and sipped. She stared at his back, enjoying the dark green Henley he’d chosen today and sipping merrily on her latte.
More orchestra members filed in as the clock ticked closer to ten, but still he focused only on his conversation. Something about CrossFit or Whole30 or some other bullshit Gwen was in no way ready to commit to.
He never looked at her once. When Nathan finally called the beginning of rehearsal and everyone took their seats, Gwen was twitching in her chair. But that was possibly the caffeine she’d just gulped down.
Xander dropped into his chair, pushed his hair away from his face, and as he bent to grab his cello, his eyes slid up to her through his waves. Her lips pulled tight around the straw as her gaze locked on him. He smirked and turned to give his full attention to Nathan.
On Thursday, he approached her at the snacks table. He hadn’t spoken to her during Wednesday’s rehearsal, leaving her alone during breaks and keeping his eyes off her for most of the day. But today, Gwen was twitchy. She jumped at the slightest movement of his body across from her, not having the espresso to blame this time. So, at their first ten-minute break of the day, she rose from her chair and went in search of a packet of chamomile tea.
“Good morning.”
The teabag flew from her fingers, jerking through the air and hitting a broad chest next to her. It flopped to the table, and Gwen snatched it up. “Sorry. Yes, good morning. Hi.”
He said nothing else as she dropped it into the cup of hot water. They watched it steep. Then—
“Calming blend.”
Her eyes scanned to the label on the tea packet. “Mm-hm. I need to…decaffeinate today.” She bit her lip. “Oh…I mean”— she jerked her gaze up to him—“coffee is wonderful, though. Um, especially lattes.” His eyes darkened and danced over her face. “I really, really like vanilla iced lattes. So, um…”
“Hm. That’s what you were drinking yesterday, yeah?” A smile tugged at his lips.
“Yes, I…I was very grateful to have it.” She swallowed and watched him reach for a Styrofoam cup. “It was perfect. For a Wednesday.”
“But Thursdays are for tea,” he said, nodding at her cup.
“I guess so.”
He poured coffee into his cup and turned to face her. “What are Fridays for?”
She looked up at him as he gave her his entire focus. She reached for her cup for something to hold onto and her fingers overshot, knocking it over, hot chamomile tea spilling over the cookies and down onto the floor. She jumped back, apologizing, grabbing for napkins, and spending the rest of the break helping the rehearsal assistant clean up as her face burned.
It went like that for a while. She was hyper-aware of every little thing he did, while he seemed to have mellowed considerably. Like he’d been drowning, and had finally found air. She wondered if it was her turn to drown. She felt like she was back in high school, unsure what to do with herself when Ronnie Schultz was around, completely overwhelmed with how much she wanted him.
And worst of all, Alex knew that, just like Ronnie had. Alex knew there was a possibility now. Not tonight. So when?
The next concert was the weekend of Halloween. The theme was Disney Villains—a direct ploy for more ticket sales—and she had her first violin solo at the Manhattan Pops in “Friends on the Other Side.”
Her article in the orchestral magazine had come out the week before, and Ava let her know that ticket sales had spiked just after.
A few days before the concert, just as they came back from a ten-minute break, Nathan turned to Xander and asked, “Have you decided on your solo for the October concert?”
Xander narrowed his eyes at him, pressing his lips together. She had a feeling that this was not the first time Nathan had asked him this question, but now he had asked in front of everyone for an answer.
“I’ll be playing from the same series.”
His eyes slid over to her.
The same series. Maybe he’d written Fugue No. 2. Gwen blinked at him and looked down. Something felt off. Disappointment twisted in her, knowing that a new piece existed, but she hadn’t heard it yet. But that was ridiculous. She didn’t have ownership of this series. She hadn’t even written it.
For the concert, Ava had helped her pick out a black velvet dress that dropped to the tops of her knees.
“This is too short, isn’t it?” Gwen had asked as she exited the changing room.
“You’re too young and beautiful to be dressing like a violinist, Gwen.” Ava tapped away at her phone, and Gwen laughed.
She’d talked her into finding a bold red lipstick to match. So, after choosing one of the best shades at Duane Reade, Gwen rushed to Carnegie Hall to change and get ready.
The feeling of being introduced to a huge crowd was the same as before. She moved onto the stage, waving and smiling, and took a bow. The concert went according to plan. Xander even kept his eyes to himself for the most part.
Right before the end of act one, Nathan picked up the microphone, ready to introduce Xander Thorne’s cello solo. He’d decided to play Fugue No. 1 again. He’d announced on Friday that he’d made edits and rearrangements, which had thrown Gwen off for the rest of the day.
She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the melody— preparing herself for the ending again. She looked up at him. He’d been so much lighter. So much more at peace these last few weeks. She wondered if he would resolve the chord this time. If the edits he’d made would contrast with the energy of the last time.
He stared at her.
Gwen drank him in for a moment, letting him look. He should have been turning his chair forward, and resetting for his solo, but he seemed quite focused on her. She turned her attention back to Nathan, introducing Fugue No. 1. Nathan was just wrapping up his praises for the talent of his secret stepson when Mary—second chair and responsible for turning the pages for both herself and Gwen—tapped her knee.
“Gwen, is this right?”
Gwen looked down at the binder. Mary flipped the page again, and instead of the medley that closed out act one, an untitled sheet of music was tucked into the three-ring binder. Mary turned the page to show Gwen that the Disney songs were behind it.
Gwen turned back to the strange page as the audience applauded for Xander Thorne’s solo. She ran her eyes across the staves, reading the notes and the progressions as he picked up his bow.
She looked up at him. He was still facing her, watching her. Not turned out to the audience. Intent on her. The bow slid across the cello strings, the familiar aggravated arpeggios beginning to burn.
This was…Was this…?
The sheet music was for violin. Sixteen bars of rest before the first violin notes were played. The same length as the arpeggio section. Long legato notes that synced and harmonized and counterpointed perfectly to the second section in Fugue No. 1, Unaccompanied.
But…accompanied. By her.
She blinked up at him, heart racing at the possibility of sight-reading something in front of all of Carnegie Hall. His eyes burned into her skin as he skipped and danced through the first section.
There’s something exciting about sight-reading. Don’t you agree?
This was insane. This was absolutely—
The end of the arpeggios. Two bars to decide. She scanned the page, finding accidentals and triplets and staccatos. But she knew this song. She knew it in her blood. And he wanted her to play it with him.
Her eyes met his again. And there was a pleading there. And despite how insane this was, how…how rude, really, Gwen knew this was it. This was the culmination. She looked down at the page with one bar to spare. And where the stave was usually named “soloist” or “violin” or “voice,” he’d typed one word:
Squeaky.
She lifted her bow, and as he slithered out of the arpeggios and into the calm, she carried him through.
She felt Mary gasp. Felt Nathan look at her. Felt all of Carnegie Hall murmur.
But she ignored them all.
Alex Fitzgerald had asked her to dance.
She soared above him as he pulled low and dark, tethering her to the key. And all at once they fit together. A harmony in easy tempos, matching phrases and answering each other’s questions. Just before they dropped into the storm, the agitation, she looked up at him for the first time.
His eyes were on her fingers. His lips parted. And a flush stained his skin, spreading. She took a breath before the next section fell over them. He met her eyes. And they spun.
Quick sixteenths from the cello as she dropped into the quarter-note rhythm. And then they switched. And then together again.
Her eyes flew over the page, preparing and pushing forward. The fingerpicking. But the violin stayed on the bow, responding and singing back. She would rest, and then pull short melodies over top of him.
Like breathing in, and then sighing out.
There was a long held note that sounded so wrong, completely out of key, and Gwen was certain she’d played it wrong. And then he flipped the bow around his fingers, pulling against the strings again, and suddenly it fit back together.
Like she’d been drifting off without him, and he found her.
A flurry of notes across the last bars. Her wide eyes devoured the page, translating to her fingers, barely listening to his melody, but knowing somehow that it worked. That they worked.
Then it was the build to the end, buzzing with tight thirds, and humming a battle to see who finished first. Her bow skidded off the strings, the violin section ending just moments before his. She lifted her eyes from the page and watched him finish.
He looked at her. And they hung there, breathing, waiting.
She waited to see if he’d play the piece he’d cut from it. The place where the tonic was supposed to be, making it feel complete.
Her breath puffed from her lips. He watched her, waiting. She raised her bow, eyes on him, the page useless to her as she dragged the unwritten resolution across the strings.
He smiled, letting her vibrate through Carnegie Hall alone.
And just before she lifted the bow to cut the sound, he plucked a string. Like a book dropping closed at the end of the last chapter. Like a kiss dropped to her forehead.
Her blood rushed in her ears. A dull thudding in her chest. A spinning, throbbing in her body. A need…
But only an echo of what sang to her from across the stage.
He wetted his lips. And she swallowed.
He was the first to look away. And she watched him grin to something on his left.
She turned and found the steady wave of Carnegie Hall coming to its feet. And she had to close her eyes against the explosion of sound as she came back to herself. A tidal wave drowned her momentarily, before she acclimated and smiled. The balconies drifted to their feet, the teenagers popping up in their chairs, bouncing and screaming.
Just as she realized how foolish she looked sitting in her chair with three thousand people doing the opposite, Alex stood, holding his Stradivarius in his left hand and reaching for her with the other.
She pulled herself onto shaking legs and met him in the middle, slipping her fingers against his palm until he grasped her and guided her forward, presenting her to the audience.
She laughed and inclined her head, nodding to each tier.
When she returned to her seat, she looked up to where Nathan stood at the podium, clapping and staring at the two of them, assessing. He picked up the mic.
“Marvelous. What an extraordinary composition.”
Gwen turned her attention to the Disney Villains medley, and only as the adrenaline leaked out of her did she realize how ridiculous that was.
She could have made a fool of herself in front of all of Carnegie Hall. He should have asked her about it beforehand. She should not have sight-read during a concert. He could have… texted her? She didn’t know. She might not have said yes. And maybe he knew that. It had still been her choice whether she wanted to join the duet tonight.
She lifted the violin to her chin as the guest singers returned to the stage, jumping into “This Is Halloween.”
On the final notes of “Hellfire,” she could feel his eyes on her, burning her skin. The audience applauded. The singers bowed.
As soon as Nathan descended from the podium, she shot up, violin placed down on her chair, and took his arm as he escorted her offstage behind the singers. The doors closed behind them.
“Well, that was—”
But she was already gone, clicking down the hall toward the bathrooms. She heard the door to the stage open, and Nathan’s voice saying, “You could have warned us. We could have marketed the hell out of— Xander?”
She needed to think. She needed to breathe without his eyes on her. She needed just a moment without his song humming through her blood, his voice at her ear, his fingers ghosting over her skin.
But that wasn’t all she needed.
Gwen turned a corner and rested against a wall, taking a moment. Her heart was pounding a crazed dance. She closed her eyes and listened to the squeak of his dress shoes coming closer.
She was facing a family restroom. She could barricade herself in and refuse to see him. But that was the opposite of what she wanted.
They needed to have this out—one way or another.
He rounded the corner and stopped when he found her. She looked at him, in his fucking tuxedo, panting like he’d run a mile to find her, his skin flushed with more than just the spotlight.
He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. He waited.
Gwen stepped toward the restroom and made sure it was vacant. She held it open and gestured for him to enter first.
As he passed her, she felt his body brush hers, and she trembled, catching her breath. She followed him inside and shut the door. She leaned back on it and they turned toward each other, both taking a moment before launching into their own speeches.
“Extraordinary. Absolutely—fucking gorgeous—”
“Can’t believe you did that,” she hissed.
“—something so beautiful—”
“I could have embarrassed myself in front of all of Carnegie Hall!”
“—like we were made for each other, Gwen.”
Something choked her. Some long-pushed-aside desire to belong to someone.
She watched him pace, running his hand through his hair, smiling and babbling about what they could be together. About coming on tour with him. About collaborating on new pieces. She felt the door behind her, solid and strong.
His fingers curled into fists whenever his feet brought him within inches of her. His eyes would drop to her throat or her lips or her chest and then he’d pace away, smiling about different arrangements he’d like recorded. With her.
He moved back to her. “Just hear me out, all right? Let me”—he gasped for air—“let me get my thoughts together.” His hands rose to touch her but then pressed firmly against the door behind her instead. “Give this a chance. The two of us. I’m not good with words, I’m not good at speaking things. I’m good with notes on a page. I’m good at music—and that’s what I tried to tell you on that stage just now.”
His eyes were wild on hers, and she felt the air thin, her head spin.
“If you don’t want to be with me, together with me, I can understand,” he said, and she felt her knees wobble. “But, Gwen, please make music with me. I need you in my life. I need to be in your orbit in some way, and if you don’t want me to touch you and kiss you and fuck you, then let me make love to you onstage every night because it’s the most alive I’ve felt in ten years—”
She rose up in her heels and kissed him, drinking his praise down to a place that had run dry years ago.
His lips were soft, open and unmoving above hers as she pressed herself close.
Made for each other.
Pockets in her heart that had been carved out by two different cancers and were still left vacant by Mabel and Jacob.
She moved her lips over him again, begging him to fill those voids.
And then he slammed into her, like a car crash, sideswiping her with his arms, crushing her bones with his frame, and puncturing her lungs with his lips and tongue and teeth.
She gasped. He slid his hands around her back, tugging her body close as he pushed her into the door, licking at her, rocking into her. He groaned into her mouth, twisting his tongue to map her.
“Fuck,” he hissed, tilting his head to connect with her again.
Her hands were on his shoulders, just gripping him as his mouth turned her incoherent.
His teeth nipped her, running down her jaw, and sucking at the places on her neck he’d already become acquainted with. His breath was hot on her skin, heaving air before diving back to her throat.
She ran her hands up to his neck, sliding into his hair, holding his head to her. His teeth grazed her neck, and when she moaned and tugged at his hair, his hips snapped forward, slamming against her and pressing her into the door. He was hard in his tuxedo pants.
“Sorry,” he gasped.
His hands slid down, gently, slowly, cupping her backside as his tongue laved her neck. She groaned. Dragging his face back to hers, she barely registered his red lips before he dove into her mouth again, his fingers starting to knead into her backside, squeezing and pulling her close.
His tongue spun delicious melodies into her, sucking the breath from her lungs until her head floated away from her body. A slow rolling pressure surged through her veins, blossoming from where he connected them.
There was a sudden sharp knock behind her head. “Five minutes until top of act two!”
His lips paused on hers. Her heart drummed. She listened to the footsteps trot down the hall. And the room spun back toward her. They were in the middle of a concert. At Carnegie Hall. And Xander Thorne’s hands were on her ass.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
He jumped, moving his hands to her face, holding her jaw. “Don’t run—”
“Oh my god—”
“Just talk to me about this—”
“Oh my—”
“Gwen—”
“You have my lipstick on your face,” she said, staring in horror at the red smudges on his lips. “Oh my god.”
She batted his hands away and ran for the sink, gasping when she saw the state of herself. Her hair was falling out of its pins even though she didn’t remember his hands there. Her dress was mussed and her face flushed.
“Oh my god.”
“What does this mean, Gwen?” she heard from the door. “What does this—what do you want this to mean?”
She looked at him in the mirror. He leaned one hand on the door, bracing himself, but maybe also keeping her here.
“I can’t think. I need to focus—”
“We have five minutes. We’ll be fine—”
“Fix your face!” she hissed at him, pushing pins back into her hair.
He moved to the sink, cautious and slow, but didn’t turn to the mirror. He stood watching her. She huffed and grabbed a few paper towels, wetting them and turning to rub his face with them. He frowned and took them from her. She grabbed more for herself.
“I want to be clear,” he whispered, as she focused on the rose-colored smudges around her lips. “I want you. In every way.” She swallowed, and he watched her throat move. “I want to see you. And fuck you. And play music with you.”
She dabbed her lips manically, the color already removed. She could feel her pulse in her face. His fingers touched lightly on her waist and turned her away from the mirror, her back to the sink and her face to his.
“Tell me you want even one of those things.” His lips twitched, and she stared up at him.
His brown eyes flickered between hers, a deep color. And really, what was the point of lying to him now. After she’d thrown herself at him.
“A few of them, yeah.”
His eyes drank her in, fluttering over her face and drawing a smile from her mouth. She held her breath as he dropped his lips to hers again.
“No, don’t.” She stopped him just an inch from her mouth. “The lipstick.”
He hovered, smirking as he aimed for her jaw. “Here?” he offered.
Gwen swallowed, and when she didn’t stop him, he placed his lips on her skin, sending shivers through her. His hands stayed delicately on her hips.
“Here?” he whispered against her neck, just below her ear.
She nodded, blushing at the game he played. His lips pressed, parting on her skin and leaving wet kisses along her throat, sucking and nipping and curling her toes in her stockings. Her hands rose, bracing herself on his stomach. He gasped against her neck and sucked another bruise into her skin.
Her eyes drifted closed, and his mouth trailed down to her clavicle. “Here?”
She smiled, and he dropped light kisses across her collarbone until he arrived at the top of her breasts.
“Here?” he mumbled into her chest.
Her breath came quick, lifting her skin to meet his lips with every inhale.
She blinked down at him, his legs bending to bring his lips to her breasts. A small press of his fingers into her hips.
“Yes,” she breathed.
His eyes locked on hers as he dragged his lips across the skin at the top of her dress, and she couldn’t look away as he placed his mouth on her sternum, landing between her breasts. All thoughts of leaving the bathroom anytime soon vanished as his head lowered and he kissed her breast lightly over her dress.
Her eyes closed again, and her nipples tightened. Her thighs squeezed together. His mouth swept over to her other breast, and maybe that was his teeth, nipping at her.
Her hands dropped to his shoulders as one of her knees buckled. She pressed her lips together, holding back a moan as he dragged his mouth across the velvet over her ribs, hands on her hips squeezing.
It felt like fingers sweeping over her stomach, teasing and promising. But knowing it was his mouth…His lips worshipping her through her dress…
“Here?”
Her eyes fluttered open. He was on his knees, holding her hips in his large hands, looking up at her. His mouth hovered, lips whispering against the front of her. The center of her.
His eyes were black, and he breathed evenly, calmly. She felt his air warm against her hip.
On his knees. In a tuxedo. In a public bathroom.
“Gwen,” he whispered. “Here?”
Like he was begging for permission. Like if she said yes, her dress would disappear and she’d be lifted onto the sink.
He stared up at her, stirring her, and lowered his lips to kiss the fabric over her hipbone.
Sharp knocking. “Places for act two!”
She jumped. His hands steadied her hips. And just before she fully emerged from her haze, he dropped a kiss to her stomach, below her belly button, just inches from where he needed to be. He stood, and even that was the most sensuous thing Gwen had ever experienced. His body brushed hers as his limbs extended, rising.
He looked at himself in the mirror over her shoulder, a quick push of his hand through his hair that almost had her knees giving out again, and then he stared down at her, hands rising to press soft fingerprints into her cheeks and jaw, tilting her face up to him.
His lips on her cheek, her chin, her eyelashes.
She blushed when he adjusted himself in his tuxedo pants and moved away, leaving her leaning against the sink, watching him pull the door open and smile at her before disappearing.
She turned to the mirror, and she felt like she could see his lips everywhere, pushing into her velvet dress, burning her hipbones, drifting across her chest.
Gwen fixed what she could before exiting and running into the relieved stage manager. They cued her entrance, and she waved again to the top tiers, winding her way around the first violins, and taking up her chair.
She looked at him once she sat. His dark, expressive eyes grazed her body.
She applauded for Nathan. She started the first song of act two—and fully comprehended halfway through what had just happened.
Xander Thorne wanted to put his mouth on her body. Everywhere on her body.
She missed an entrance. But thankfully Diane was there behind her with a kick to her chair.