Page 19 of Not Another Love Song

“She does. She’s going to be a member of the team, not just its trophy.” Ava turned her attention back to Gwen. “We think you are qualified. We think you are remarkable. We think, with my guidance, you can take over this orchestra.” Ava squeezed her hand. “But we also know that the youngest first violin in the history of New York orchestras will bring in an audience. I wanted that to be clear to you before you accept. It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t know some of our motivations.”

“I…Thank you. I understand,” Gwen hummed, focusing on the way Ava’s thumb stroked her hand, feeling her skin tingle at being taken care of.

“You can take a few days to think about it,” Nathan said.

“Well…” Ms. Michaels piped in. “The sooner the better. We’d like to send out the press release before the Fortieth Anniversary Concert. When the subscriptions get renewed.”

That was in a few weeks. And then it would be off-season for the summer until the September concert.

Something twisted in her stomach. Gwen thought of Henry, who had been seated at eighth violin for twenty years. Mary, the current second violin and assistant to Ava—she’d been with the Pops since its inception in 1984. Did Gwen deserve this?

Xander’s comment from the hallway swam in her ears: She’ ll certainly make for a pretty picture on the brochure.

Xander, Ava, and the board members were clear. They needed a pretty face in that chair to sell tickets. Pretty and young.

A voice that sounded a lot like Jacob’s rang in her head, reminding her that Ava Fitzgerald wouldn’t hand her chair and her father’s orchestra to someone who couldn’t succeed.

Gwen glanced at Ava, examining her smart eyes and trusting smile. “I accept. I mean, I think you’re all out of your minds, but I accept.”

She thought maybe the hug Ava gave her, Nathan’s hand on her shoulder, Ms. Michaels’s hands clapping together, and Dr. Bergman’s sleepy nod would be worth the mess she was getting herself into.

When she retrieved her violin from the stage before heading off to grab a celebratory lunch with Nathan and Ava, she couldn’t help but notice that the shadow in the balcony had vanished.

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.

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