Page 6 of Not Another Love Song

She jerked, looking down at the cello for anything he’d be displeased with. Dirt from the lawn, ladybugs crawling, fingerprints? Nothing, but he was keeping a careful eye on his secondfavorite cello.

Possibly his fourth favorite. How was she to know?

She watched Sonya take Mac to be her wedded husband. And she watched Xander Thorne’s eyes slip to her and Jacob more than once.

She wasn’t going to take off with the cello. Chill, Xander Thorne. Or Alex?

Throughout the ceremony, he continued to glance in her direction, his eyes dark as tunnels as his hands fidgeted in front of him. She wondered if the photographs would show him looking off, distracted.

The minister pronounced them wife and husband, in that order, and Gwen prepared herself, turning her attention to “Bad Romance” by Lady Gaga.

The bow slid across, popping the little sounds that Gaga usually made—Ra ra ah ah ah-ah. Roma ah ah ah-ah.

She nodded at Jacob as he slid a glissando down the keys to join her on the downbeat.

The audience chuckled as they recognized the song, and Mac and Sonya danced down the aisle. Xander decidedly did not dance, instead taking sharp, measured steps. She and Jacob played out the wedding party and then continued another verse and chorus before resolving into an ending.

“You’re pretty great at that,” Jacob said, nodding to the cello.

Gwen smiled, stroking the neck, feeling the smooth polish. It was a kind thought, but Jacob didn’t know anything about strings, so he wouldn’t know that the bowing was all wrong or that she didn’t have the right calluses on her fingers to play “Jesu” that quickly.

Jacob brought over the cello case and laid it open for her. She took one last glance at the beautiful instrument before closing the case and then searched the crowd for one of the assistants she could leave it with. A few ushers were taking guests to the reception area across the lawn, but no sign of Xander Thorne or any staff.

“Why don’t I find Ama and our money, and you figure out what to do with that.” Jacob pointed to the cello case.

Gwen wandered for a bit, carrying her violin in one hand and the cello in the other. She slipped inside the house, eyes glazing over as she took in the interior. She pressed herself between caterers and photographers, trying to maneuver her cases around. In a hallway, she saw framed pictures of a tall teenage girl dunking a basketball—it seemed they were in Sonya’s parents’ house.

She bumped into Chelsea, coming out of a small bathroom. “What are you doing inside the house?” she snapped.

Gwen gaped at her rudeness, stuttering in shock, “Sorry, I’m just…I’m looking for Xander—um, Alex. I have his cello.”

Chelsea frowned at her and said, “You can leave it upstairs in the room for the groomsmen. First bedroom on the left.”

Mumbling a quick thanks, Gwen twisted through a doorway, finding a circular staircase spiraling widely to a second floor. She turned left at the top and poked her head into an empty bedroom—clothes and shoes and discarded belts thrown everywhere. Every surface was covered with empty glasses of scotch and cologne bottles.

Yep. Found the boys’ room.

Gwen set the cello down in a safe corner, away from bottles or liquids of any kind. She pushed a curtain aside to look down on the reception, seeing wineglasses and hors d’oeuvres floating through the crowd. The corner of her mouth tugged. It was probably the nicest wedding she’d ever been to. Beautiful location, beautiful weather, beautiful floral. Ama was a fabulous wedding planner. And speaking of, Gwen thought she spied the woman herself squeezing the tall florist’s ass behind the catering table. He glared at her and then pressed a kiss to her cheek. Gwen chuckled.

She scanned the reception and found the keys player and the drummer for Thorne and Roses chatting with their dates. She looked for Dominic, the sandy-haired violinist, and found him trying and failing to flirt with the photographer, a tall and stunning Indian woman. If she’d known she’d be playing in front of them all ahead of time, she probably would have been nauseated all day. Even though she hated herself for it, she searched for a black head of hair, wondering what Xander Thorne thought of her cello playing.

“Your intonation is awful.”

She spun, finding the man himself taking up the doorway. Gwen blinked at him as his words registered, wondering what she was supposed to do with that.

There was something tense in his body language. No hands in his pockets, no shoulder resting casually on the doorway. Instead, he held both sides of the frame in his palms, leaning into the room like he’d just dropped in to tell her something.

When he added no other insults or commentary, she said, “Thanks for bringing your cello.” She gestured lamely to the corner where she’d placed it.

His gaze slid over her, and she could almost feel it on her skin. “How long have you been playing?”

“I started violin when I was eleven.”

“How long with cello,” he clarified.

She brushed her hair over her ear. “I don’t play, really. I had a few lessons when I was younger, but I mainly play violin.” She swallowed, looking away from him.

“You weren’t looking at the sheet music.”

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