Chapter Nineteen
After two weeks of an empty apartment and only a few text messages, Jacob finally put his foot down on Friday and requested a dinner party. Gwen agreed to come out of her love bubble for an evening, but scheduled with Jacob for Sunday night.
Tonight, Gwen was headed to a party with Alex’s friends. Alex’s friends, who consisted of her favorite music group in the world. Alex’s friends, whom she needed to impress not only as his girlfriend, but also as a human. Hazel Renee and her wife would be there too, and Gwen took extra care with her makeup.
She’d slipped into a romper, boots, and a large cardigan, tugged her hair into a knot on the top of her head, and applied more mascara and lip gloss than normal, all while Xander sat at the foot of his bed, narrowing his eyes at her.
“You know it’s just a kickback to watch the game, right?”
“Yeah! Of course!” She smacked her lips, no idea which game was on.
In the cab down to SoHo, Gwen fiddled with a chipped nail and asked, “Whose apartment is this?”
“Sonya and Mac’s.”
“The bride and groom,” she clarified, as if she didn’t know these names by heart already. “You know Mac from the band, but how did you end up in Sonya’s bridal party?”
“I knew Sonya first; we grew up together. We went to the same elementary school, but different high schools. She visited my dad’s house every summer, though. I introduced her to Mac about four years ago, and they hit it off.”
Gwen smiled, but another thought gave her pause. “And how do you all know Chelsea?”
“She’s one of Sonya’s best friends.”
Gwen chewed on the inside of her cheek. “She’s on the road with you guys a lot, huh?”
“Yeah. She’s a stylist, so we invite her to keep track of our clothes and do our hair when she’s free.”
Alex dipped his head to read a billboard they were passing, completely unaware of the anxious shaking of her foot next to him.
“And will she be there tonight?”
“Probably.”
Gwen sucked in a deep breath. “Alex, can you please just tell me if I’m about to spend the next few hours with a girl you’ve slept with?”
His gaze snapped to her. “Chelsea? No.”
“Or hooked up with?” Gwen dug. “I’ve seen the way she is around you, and—”
“When?” His brow furrowed.
“Online. In pictures.”
“Oh,” Alex said, confusion vanishing, gazing back out the window. “Lorenz does that. Any opportunity to make me more ‘desirable,’ as he says.”
Gwen frowned. That still didn’t explain the pictures of Alex on Chelsea’s Instagram, but she dropped it for now, deciding to trust what he was saying.
They were quiet for a few minutes, but just before the cab pulled up to their cross streets, he took her hand in his.
“Nothing’s ever happened between me and Chelsea. Now I know why you asked about her at the Plaza.” He chuckled, and she rubbed her thumb across the back of his hand. “I did try to kiss Sonya in fifth grade, though. She knocked me out. Chipped my tooth.” Gwen smiled as he raised his top lip to show her which one. “And I guess you should know that I turned Hazel Renee into a lesbian when we were sixteen. She asked to have sex and promptly told me she was into women afterward.”
Gwen laughed out loud, forgetting her anxiety for a bit, but her nerves were bubbling in her stomach again by the time they got buzzed into the apartment. Mac opened the door for them, and when he extended his hand to meet her, she stuttered over her own name until it sounded like “Guyen.”
The introductions to the rest of them happened similarly. She knocked Jaden’s drink out of his hand (thankfully almost empty), went in for The Hug with Carlos, and performed what might have been a curtsey when meeting Dom, the violinist.
Thankfully, Dom was just as exuberant and flirty in real life as he was onstage and ended up kissing her on the mouth for a hello.
“I, um, I love your work,” she said lamely, unable to tell him in front of Alex and the rest of his bandmates that aside from Xander Thorne, Dom was her favorite part of the Roses. He played to the audience, head-banging and playing other people’s instruments mid-song.
“Tell me everything about you, Gwen,” Dom said, stealing her away and forcing people off the couch so she could sit. “Where did you come from, where are you going?”
She considered making a “Cotton-Eyed Joe” reference, but restrained herself.
“I’m from here. Born in Queens. I’ve never gone anywhere.”
Dom’s blue eyes widened. “No way. You have to check out California one day.”
“Is that where you’re from?” she asked, knowing exactly where he was from.
“Yeah, but not the surfing part,” he said. “So you’re playing for the Pops. What’s next?”
His focus was unwavering as Gwen tried to think of how to respond.
“I don’t know. I think…I think the Pops is long-term. I’m first chair.”
“Right!” He raised his fist to bump. “That’s amazing. I played orchestra in high school but never ever wanted first chair. I bet it’s amazing.”
Gwen paused before answering. It was almost like an out-of-body experience. She also had never wanted a position like first chair when she was in high school. She had wanted to be exactly here. On a couch talking to Dominic of Thorne and Roses about violin. Or, perhaps, she’d wanted to be Dom.
“It’s a lot of pressure, but I love it.” That was what she landed on in response.
Dom’s attention was drawn over her shoulder when the group burst into cheers of welcome. She turned and found Ama Torres and a whole crew of people coming through the door, most of whom Gwen recognized from the New Jersey wedding—Ama’s florist boyfriend Elliot, the model/actress Hazel Renee, and a cute Asian girl who was holding her hand. Bringing up the rear was the stunning woman who had been the wedding photographer.
Dominic stood, ruffled his hair nervously, and grabbed Gwen’s arm. “Come here! Do you know the rest of the Sacramento crew?”
Before she could confirm that she did, Ama caught sight of her and pushed through everyone for a bone-crunching hug.
“I wasn’t aware you knew Mac personally before you did the wedding,” Gwen said when Ama released her.
“Oh, I didn’t. But we’re all besties now!”
Gwen watched as Dominic shook hands with Elliot, and then tried to say hi to the photographer, with little luck. She introduced herself to Gwen as Mar, Ama’s best friend, and pointedly ignored Dominic as he stood directly next to her with puppy-dog eyes for the next forty-five minutes.
The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. Alex’s friends playfully pried into his personal life by way of her, asking invasive questions and telling her embarrassing stories about him. Gwen found herself standing in the kitchen with all the girls a few hours later, comforting Chelsea while she cried over Carlos the drummer, of all people. Gwen watched in confusion as Sonya wrapped her arms around Chelsea, and Ama told her she was too good for him.
Jackie, Hazel’s wife, leaned into Gwen and whispered, “To be honest I thought she was into Alex.”
Gwen turned to her. “Oh, thank god. I thought I was making up things.”
Hazel slyly reached across them for a glass and murmured, “Trying to make Carlos jealous with Alex. That’s Chelsea’s way.” She winked at Gwen. “You’re safe.”
Gwen laughed, and Hazel fully turned to her. “Oh, wait. I have something for you!” Hazel pulled out a tube of lipstick that had the logo HR on the side. “A little birdie told me you need something that won’t smudge.”
Hazel wiggled her eyebrows at her, and Gwen flushed red and cursed Alex. She poured herself another glass of wine and almost immediately spilled it when she turned her eyes to the front door.
“Wait,” Gwen said. “Is that—?”
“Tabitha came!” Hazel sang out, and she ran to greet Tabitha Westlake—star of the vampire TV show that she and Jacob cleared their schedules for every Tuesday night.
Gwen gaped at the small blond woman as she shed her coat and threw her arms around Hazel for a hug. Gwen couldn’t believe it. She was living in a literal fantasy world.
“Hazel is joining the show for three episodes in the spring,” Jackie whispered to Gwen to explain how they knew Tabitha. Gwen’s fingers itched to text Jacob everything.
Jackie took Gwen over for an introduction, and Gwen managed to stammer something that might have resembled words.
“Gwen, good to meet you.” Tabitha shook her hand, and Gwen watched her perfect arm muscles flex with it.
“You are my absolute favorite character,” Gwen rushed out. “When you came back at the end of last season and drove your car through the vampire nest—oh my god, I died. I’m so glad Kiki survived.”
Tabitha laughed, a beautifully full sound. “You and me both. They decided not to kill me off at the last second.”
Gwen asked her questions for five more minutes before realizing she was still holding her hand in her own.
All in all, a successful night.
In the car on the way home as Gwen lolled drunkenly against the window, Alex turned to her and asked, “Did you do your research or something? You were talking to Dom about his pet lizard at one point. And you asked Carlos if he ever managed to find his birth mother.”
She whispered, “I’m a fan,” giggled, and closed her eyes.
“You’re going to piss off Jacob if you try to help with dinner, I’m just saying.”
“He doesn’t want help?” Alex asked, placing the oregano into the grocery basket on his elbow. “Is he a kitchen control freak?”
“Kind of, but it’s more about a lack of space. Two people can’t really fit in the kitchen. He doesn’t even let his boyfriend in there.” Gwen had been pleasantly surprised to hear that Declan and Jacob had made it to their six-month anniversary already (Jacob didn’t count those few months off over the summer). They were having a triple date in Washington Heights tonight—her and Alex, Jacob and Declan, and Mei and Jeremy. Jacob was cooking Locrio de Salami, his favorite one-pot recipe.
Alex smiled at her like he didn’t believe her excuses, but when she led them up the five flights of stairs to her and Jacob’s apartment, he sobered.
He greeted Jacob, met Declan, and set the bags down on the only counter. Gwen turned to give him the tour, which consisted of two steps this way and a quick poke into the bathroom, when she saw him distracted by something on the wall.
She turned, and her heart stopped when she found the shirtless Thorne and Roses poster, rehung in the hallway.
“Jacob,” she hissed.
He cackled from the kitchen. “It was Declan’s idea!”
“It was not,” Declan yelled back from the bedroom.
Gwen ripped at it, tearing it down from its thumbtacks. “Sorry. It’s not what it looks like.” She didn’t meet Alex’s eyes before running after Jacob, who was fleeing into her room, to tackle him on her bed.
“Alex!” Jacob cried out under her tickling fingers. “Alex, she played that wedding gig just to meet you!” Gwen pushed her hand against his mouth, but he still screamed, “She found out your friend was getting married, started taking violin lessons, and killed my usual duet partner. Her body is in the Hudson!”
“Jacob!” She was beet red, gasping with laughter.
“Her name’s not even Gwen!”
She looked over her shoulder and found Alex leaning against the bedroom door with a grin on his face.
“It’s not…” She climbed off Jacob and approached Alex apologetically. “I may have had that poster…prior to you joining the Pops, but I took it down after your first day, I swear.”
“She didn’t get rid of it, though,” Declan called from down the hall.
“Declan, enough!”
Alex smiled down at her, brushed his fingers over her cheek, and said, “Do you have a box of my hair somewhere too?”
She clenched her jaw and stomped to the kitchen to make sure all the dishes were clean.
Mei swept in like a tornado with Jeremy puffing behind her, asking if they had considered moving somewhere with an elevator.
“Jeremy, shut up. You climb six floors for me,” Mei said, finding the wine bottles faster than anyone ever had.
“Yes, but I get sex after that,” Jeremy grumbled.
“Hey, Gwen,” Mei called. “Jeremy needs sex to offset the exercise he just did. Xander, you’re okay with that, right?”
“Whatever makes Gwen happy,” Alex said playfully from Jacob’s room. He and Declan were staying out of Jacob’s way in the kitchen. Gwen smiled and took the Trader Joe’s bag from a red-faced Jeremy.
Jacob called them in to get their drinks and appetizers and said in his best Martha Stewart voice, “We have Gouda, Camembert, a sharp cheddar.” He wrapped a pink apron around himself that read, I Cook as Good as I Look. He moved toward Alex, leaning in the doorway, and said, “Wineglasses there, darling.” He placed a hand on Alex’s arm. “Or are you more of a beer drinker?”
“Wine is fine, thanks.”
Alex grinned, and Gwen didn’t miss the way Jacob’s fingers squeezed his bicep before dropping away. Jacob opened the fridge door, blocking Alex from view, and spun to Gwen with a dramatic Oh, my GOD! expression. Gwen snapped a dish towel against his thigh.
Jacob and Gwen had had more than three people over before, but trying to get everyone situated in Gwen’s bedroom using only a loveseat, three folding chairs, and their collection of TV trays was more complicated than she’d imagined.
“Declan, tell us your juiciest case as a lawyer,” Mei said. “Break all your NDAs.”
“I’m not the juicy kind of lawyer. I do paperwork mainly.”
“What kind of paperwork?” Alex asked.
“Contract negotiations. Branding. Filing for copyrights.”
“Did you at least go to Harvard Law? Can I call you my Harvard friend?” Mei said around a mouthful of salami and rice.
“You can call me your SUNY friend.”
“Imma call you my Harvard friend.”
“Xander,” Jeremy said, “are you going on tour this year?”
“Probably in the summer,” he said. “But nothing like last year. Just a few cities.”
Declan noticed Alex’s watch then, and Declan, Jeremy, and Alex spent the next ten minutes talking about Breitling versus Rolex. Mei pretended to nod off several times.
As the conversation turned to cars next, Jacob turned to Mei and Gwen. “Damn, ladies. We povvos did good for ourselves. Men who know cars and watches? I’ll just look pretty for the rest of my life, thank you.” He whistled and poured himself another glass of wine.
“What part of town are you in, Xander?” Declan asked as he started clearing dishes.
“Uh, the East Side.”
“Oh like, the Village?”
“Um, no.” Alex scratched his neck. “Like, near the park.”
There was a moment of silence.
Then Mei said, “Gwen, what the fuck am I doing on a folding chair in your bedroom?” She looked at Alex. “We’re doing this at your place next time, right?”
Alex laughed and took Gwen’s hand. “You guys are welcome.”
In the mornings before rehearsal, Gwen would crawl out of bed and sneak into the studio while Alex worked, listening to the songs he wrote. She’d sit and drink her latte and work on her bowing markings. She found this was where his moods were best, so she always tried to talk him into the Valentine’s Day duo concert in the mornings. He would frown and say, “Lorenz is talking with the programming director. We’ll see what they come up with.”
Gwen didn’t know what that meant, but it was better than an outright “no.”
Sometimes Alex would practice music for the Pops or Thorne and Roses, but most of the time she found him trying new pieces she’d never heard. He asked her to play a duet with him one day and set up a tripod in his studio. Despite her protesting, he didn’t let her see the sheet music beforehand. She focused on the page, not the camera, and it was pretty good. She felt free. They co-posted the video to their Instagrams, and it was the most likes she’d ever received on a single post. A thousand new followers.
Whenever she heard Alex play an original song in the mornings, she’d try to get out of him what he intended to do with it, if maybe he wanted to record those as well. But most of the time he’d shrug and confess he had no plan. He was just creating.
“What did you play in the subways?” he asked her one morning.
She looked up from where her chin rested on her knees, which were curled up to her chest. “Um. Pop songs mainly. They bring in better tips. But also the recognizable Beethoven and Mozart pieces.”
“Did you ever write anything yourself?”
She shook her head. “No. People only give money to songs they recognize.”
He seemed to think about this for a moment. “What about at home? Just for yourself?”
“I don’t really compose,” she said, brushing sleep out of her eye. “If I hear a melody in my head, I don’t have a need to get it outside of me. And I wouldn’t even know what to do with it once I’d gotten it out.” She laughed lightly and stretched.
“Is there anything you’ve had in your head recently that maybe I could hear?”
She glanced at him. His eyes were bright and eager. Like there was nothing he wanted more in the world than for her to say yes. He sat in his boxers and undershirt, staring at her and waiting.
“I…There’s something I was thinking…” He seemed to lean forward into her hesitance. “Well, the song you were playing yesterday. I had an idea for a violin part.”
He was up and out of his chair, grabbing his Stradivarius before she could talk herself out of it. Grabbing Squeaky’s case, he pulled his chair right in front of her, set up his cello, and offered her the violin.
She took a steadying breath. “It’s not…I mean it’s not as good as what you do—”
“Gwen,” he whispered, “please don’t try to convince me that you’re not talented.”
She rolled her eyes and took the neck of her violin from him. He brought his bow to his strings, and when she nodded at him, he began the love song he’d been writing. Of course, she couldn’t be sure it was a love song. But the way it made her feel…the care he took with it…
He was only a few measures in, but she brought her instrument to her chin to prepare. There was a swell in his phrase, something rich and yearning with held notes and climbing tones. She entered over the top, singing back to him. It wasn’t like with Fugue No. 1 where they took turns. It was a rhythmic dance—swooping low to catch each other, breathing through the rests, and twirling around each other’s melodies.
It only took him a few phrases to figure out her patterns and her composition. He supported the movements she made with a flourish, holding down a rhythmic pattern while she sang. It was different from how he usually played. Usually he showed off. Usually when Xander Thorne played his cello, the song was for him— he was the feature. But it was fascinating to watch him support a different instrument and complement a different melodic line.
She was becoming predictable, she knew. He was anticipating her movements to create a beautiful latticework of melodies. So she brought in an accidental in the next phrase, completely ruining the melody he was working on. He pulled a face, and she laughed, her bow bouncing off her strings.
She was smiling, just about to finish the phrase, when he pulled his bow up and said, “I love you.”
Blinking, gasping silently, Gwen stopped playing. It felt like the sound had been sucked from the room while she stared at him, begging for him to say it again in the silence.
His lips were moving with unspoken words, like he couldn’t form the sentence. “I’m sorry,” he said, standing quickly and moving to place the cello back on the stand. Her throat closed tight with the words to say. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Alex. I love you too.”
With his back turned to her, he whispered, “Don’t. You don’t have to say it—”
“I do. Alex.” She jumped to her feet and placed the violin down safely. “I love you.”
His eyes were glassy when he turned around to look at her. He bent swiftly, placing the cello on the wood floor, and took three large steps to her before wrapping her in his arms. Gwen’s feet lifted off the ground as he kissed her, holding her body close to him.
She smiled against his lips and pulled back to say, “Go put your cello away properly, Mr. Thorne. That thing is worth almost a million dollars.”
He curved his hands under her thighs and encouraged her legs to wrap around his waist. “I’m taking care of something much more valuable,” he murmured into her ear, walking them out of the studio and into the bedroom.
She tried to protest again, but he kissed her and set her down on his bed. His shirt was up and over his head, then his boxers pulled off. He ripped her underwear down her thighs as she rucked up her T-shirt. Her body was humming with the way he was looking at her, like she was the answer to everything.
“I love you,” he whispered again and cupped her face as he pressed her to lie back. He worked quickly with a condom, and then his lips were on her neck, kissing and sucking over her collarbone, siding down to her chest.
“I love you,” she echoed. His fingers glided down her stomach to her core. “Alex. I do.”
He looked into her eyes, his fingers teasing her, as he said softly, “I love when you call me Alex.”
She smiled up at him. “I love calling you Alex. I wish I’d met you before ‘Xander.’”
He pressed a kiss to her lips. “No, you don’t. Alex cared too much about what everyone else wanted.”
Her eyes fluttered shut as he pushed a finger inside of her, thrumming her clit with his thumb. “I love Alex,” she said. “Those are the parts of you I fell for.”
He watched her face as she started to come apart, his brows pulled together. “You think so?”
She rocked against his hand, threading her fingers through his hair and holding him close. She could feel him heavy against her thigh, and she reached down to wrap her fist over him. He groaned, and she felt his teeth graze her skin.
“Alex, please—”
Kissing her firmly on the mouth, he replaced his fingers with his cock, pressing himself inside and curling an arm under her to mold her to him. He pushed into her slowly, rolling his hips and barely giving her an inch or two of him. She curled her knees up to his chest and dug her heels into his back.
When he sank into her, filling her, he dropped his head to her neck. “I love you,” he breathed against her ear. “Both parts of me love you. All of me.”
“I love you, Alex,” she said over and over.
Gwen let her eyes drift closed in bliss as he kissed her neck and breathed I-love-yous into her ear. He tugged her body close to him as his pace picked up, his skin sliding against her. She came with a gasp as his hips started to jerk out of rhythm, and when she whispered it back to him against his lips, he stilled inside of her, groaning and mouthing the words over her skin.