Not Another Love Song

by Julie Soto

Genres: Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

Two string players fight their attraction for each other as they compete for center stage in this spicy and emotional romance from USA Today bestselling author Julie Soto.
 
When professional—and self-taught—violinist Gwen Jackson plays, she disappears into the peaks and valleys of each song, a quiet passion that never quite explodes into pure emotion. Xander Thorne is the exact opposite. A cellist and a rock star, he’s all about big emotion, but not even his six-foot-four frame can contain his skill, his genius . . . and an attitude that borders on jerkitude. 

Not only did it take Xander a year to notice that he and Gwen both play in the Manhattan Pops, but he also always seems to have the perfect cutting criticism about her technique. When Gwen is offered the role of first chair of the orchestra, something Xander has secretly coveted for years, their existing hostility goes up a notch. Yet, despite her best efforts, Gwen can’t ignore the sizzling chemistry between them.
           
Forced to work more closely with each other, they can’t help exploring their attraction. As they begin to compose and play songs together, it’s clear that their powerful connection could make for a performance that would blow everyone’s minds. Suddenly, they’re box office dynamite, and the fragile romance growing between them is in danger of being crushed beneath a publicity stunt.

Release date: July 16, 2024

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 384

Sample

When Gwen was in high school, she studied a line of Shakespeare that said music was the food of love. At sixteen, reading this for the first time, Gwen thought maybe her love life was on the right track then. Already five years into her violin studies and halfway through the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto, she would go to Juilliard, fall in love with another musician, and—as they say—make sweet music for the rest of her life.

Now, after eleven years of nothing but violin and exactly zero great love affairs, she realized that Shakespeare might be full of shit.

The Uber driver slowed and turned around to her in the back seat. “Is this it?”

Gwen pulled her cheap headphones out of one ear, pausing the electric cello humming through the Imagine Dragons cover, and looked out the tinted window toward the house.

Well, mansion.

More like a palace, really.

Her eyes followed the catering staff and floral assistants walking up the driveway, landing on the valet walking up to the car. A freaking valet? In the middle of New Jersey?

“I guess so!” she said. “Thanks so much. Five stars all around.”

She grabbed her violin case, adjusted her black dress, and slid out of the sedan, letting the valet know she was staff and he didn’t have to hold the door for her.

Gwen stared up at the two stories of white brick that sprawled over an open lawn. It might have taken up half a city block in Manhattan, but in the New Jersey suburbs it was majestic. Clutching her violin case close to her hip, Gwen brushed her dark auburn bangs out of her eyes and followed the other staff up the driveway to the backyard.

Or park.

A national landmark, probably.

She stood gaping at the soft grass, meticulously placed trees, pond and—swans? Live swans? She’d done backyard weddings before, but not in backyards like this. To the left, close to the three-car garage, the reception area had been set up with a dance floor and twenty round tables. Ahead of her, a beautiful floral archway stood proudly in front of the rows of chairs, and to the right of it, a black Steinway grand piano had been rolled onto the lawn. A young dark-skinned man waved her over from behind the piano—Jacob, her roommate, best friend, and duet partner.

Gwen checked the time on her phone as she strode over to him.

3:07 p.m.

She was never late. This was mortifying.

New Jersey Transit had not been kind to her, and she’d needed to call that Uber from the-middle-of-nowhere-Jersey just to arrive at a decent time. The ride ended up costing her half of what she was being paid for this gig, but if she ruined their reputation for other upscale weddings, she would never forgive herself.

“Welcome home, dahling,” Jacob teased as she came closer. He looked dashing in his black button-up and gray slacks, sleeves rolled up his forearms.

“Dahling, I want this house,” she crooned in the grand, transatlantic accent she used whenever they walked through the nice neighborhoods. “Tell Harold to put in an offer. I don’t care about the cost!”

“I looked it up on Zillow on the way here,” he said, brown eyes bright with hunger. “Eight bedrooms, Gwen. Eight.”

“Price?”

“I can’t tell you. You’ll pass out.”

Gwen snorted and pulled out her binder. Her music stand was already set up, as well as a chair for her, which answered the question of whether they preferred for her to sit or stand.

Jacob had only secured this gig last week. The original duo had canceled due to one of them having a broken wrist, and the wedding planner’s assistant had reached out to them to fill the last-minute opening. Thankfully Gwen wasn’t one to have plans on a Saturday afternoon, because the pay was outrageously good.

“The wedding planner just checked in. I told her your Uber was down the street, so I’m glad I didn’t lie about that.”

“Is she mad?” Gwen popped open her violin case.

“No, but there’s this bridesmaid who’s doing too much,” Jacob said, waving his hand in front of his face dismissively. “She keeps asking why I’m not playing yet, and I’m like, ‘Why don’t we all stay in our own lanes today, Chelsea.’”

A laugh burst out of her. “Did you actually say that?” Gwen asked.

“You bet I did. She needs to fix whatever is on top of her head before she asks questions over here.”

Gwen smiled, looking around at the setup and then drinking deeply from her water canteen. The temperature was cool, but the sun sat right over them, making her glad she’d worn SPF today to keep from turning tomato red.

Playing weddings was like a holiday for Gwen. Not only did she get to play violin at beautiful venues, but she got paid really well to do it. And with Jacob, they supported each other and traded off playing lead—instead of being one of many in an ensemble. She loved that part too, of course. Her day job at the Manhattan Pops, the largest popular music orchestra in the United States, was something she wouldn’t trade for the world, but playing solo in front of an audience was like nothing else. She loved that rush. And weddings were low-pressure in a certain way. She wasn’t there to impress anyone. She could just play.

“Hey,” Jacob said. He nodded to where a trio of women stood, two of them in bridesmaid dresses. “The brunette bridesmaid? That’s Chelsea, the nosy one. And the shorter brown-haired girl that’s got that cool Boho witch thing going on? That’s the wedding planner. But the blond bridesmaid? You don’t recognize her, do you?”

Gwen shrugged.

“That’s Hazel Renee. She’s a model. Got her own makeup line and everything. And she just did a movie.”

Gwen glanced back at the blonde before saying, “That’s cool.”

“‘That’s cool’?” Jacob sighed. “Gwen, please get on my level. There could be anyone at this wedding. This is a really big deal!”

Her heartbeat picked up, but she didn’t let the nerves get to her. Before she could “get on his level,” she saw the wedding planner moving toward them.

“Hi, you must be Gwen,” the short woman said. “I’m Ama Torres.” She looked younger than Gwen, but couldn’t be. She had the carriage and confidence of someone who dealt with nuclear missiles all day.

Gwen shook her hand. “Sorry for being a few minutes late.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ama said with a firm smile that told Gwen she probably shouldn’t do anything else wrong today. She checked her watch. “We have about twenty minutes until the first guests arrive, so feel free to use that time how you need. My assistants are running around, so if you need anything, please ask them.” Ama looked like she was about to pivot and go put out a fire when she stopped and looked around Gwen’s feet. “Do you need help getting your case out of the car?”

Gwen felt like she missed a step. “My case?”

Ama looked at Jacob, then her. “Where’s your cello?”

Gwen’s mouth opened, then closed. She heard Jacob stop tinkling the keys behind her.

“My what?” She craned her neck, hoping she would hear her differently that way.

“I asked for a piano and cello,” Ama said.

Jacob stood from the piano bench. “Your assistant’s email asked for this duo, and this duo is piano and violin.”

Ama took that in. “Ah.” She nodded a few times, staring at the ground. “Right. Okay. Right.” Her fingers went to her long necklace, twirling it absently, but Gwen could tell her mind was working at lightning speed. “We were so rushed to get a new duo that I don’t think I double-checked when my assistant found you…”

Gwen watched as Ama searched for an answer that didn’t exist.

Jacob cleared his throat. “I assure you, we’re very good.”

“No, I’m sure you are,” Ama said, her fingers rubbing her temples now. “Sonya specifically wanted a cello.”

Gwen exchanged a silent look with Jacob. They’d played this game before. People always thought they wanted cello when really, they wanted a string quartet.

“One moment,” Ama said, voice tight, and spun on her heel to march across the lawn to a tall guy with a man bun, fluffing up the flowers on the wedding arch. Gwen watched Ama gesture to them with panicked eyes before the guy dropped his hands to her shoulders, rubbing soothing circles.

Gwen blew out a tense breath. “I don’t know what to say about that,” she said, turning to Jacob. “I don’t know anyone who could get here by four.”

“Gwen,” Jacob said, shaking his head. “You were hired for this wedding. Even if we knew a cellist down the street, I don’t play without you.”

She was about to argue with that, feeling Ama’s stress wafting across the lawn to her, when she heard a cool voice from her left say, “Where’s your cello?”

Gwen turned back to find the brunette bridesmaid, Chelsea, with her hands on her hips and assessing eyes. She was actually familiar, but Jacob didn’t say he recognized her. There’s no way Gwen knew a celebrity that he didn’t.

Before Gwen could answer, Ama was back.

“Okay, okay, okay,” she rushed out. “Can you play cello?” Ama asked hopefully.

Gwen blinked. “I can play the imaginary cello about as well as the imaginary violin.”

“My brain isn’t going to process sarcasm right now,” Ama said brightly, “so just… If we had a cello brought here, could you play it?”

“That’s not how it works,” Jacob said, when Gwen failed to respond right away.

She did play cello a little bit. Her violin mentor had given her a few lessons when she was just starting out, testing her at all the strings to see where she would fit best. And Gwen needed this job, especially after that Uber ride. Jacob needed this job. And they both needed the tip, which could be zero dollars if they didn’t do this right.

Chelsea scoffed in the silence and said, “Clearly, she can’t. Hope you’re not paying them much.”

“I can do it,” Gwen said, the words laced with the same spite that she reserved for men who say, “Watch it; that’s heavy.”

Ama searched the resolve on her face. Gwen heard Jacob start to protest.

Chelsea rolled her eyes and said, “I’ll see if Alex has left yet.” She pulled out her phone and walked away.

Squeezing Gwen’s arm, Ama whispered, “Thank you, thank you.” She pivoted away from them, and Gwen could just catch her whispering to herself, “I never thought I’d appreciate Alex running late, but…”

“Gwen.” Jacob was standing at the piano, mouth agape. “They’re two completely separate instruments, right? It’s like an entirely different muscle.”

“I know.” Gwen plopped down in the chair, flipping open the music binder with shaking fingers. She stared down at the sheet music, scanning page by page, imagining the fingering.

This was one of Gwen’s best and worst qualities: people pleasing. Overcommitting. Most of the time she shone and truly delivered. But other times were truly disastrous. Double-booking herself for a wedding and a gig subbing on a Broadway pit; skipping doctors’ appointments for last-minute rehearsals; picking up dog-walking gigs with seven leashes and only two hands.

“When was the last time you played cello?”

“Eight… maybe nine years ago.” She continued to focus on the notes in front of her.

Unfortunately, her violin music was in treble clef, which meant she would need to turn off part of her brain, just read the note on the page, and tell her fingers to play that note, regardless of the octave.

Jacob grabbed his iPad and started looking online for the cello music for the pieces they were playing, but he needed the Wi-Fi to do it. Just as he jumped up to ask someone for the password, the first guests arrived. He had to start playing the pre-ceremony music.

Gwen knew she probably looked very foolish. With no cello, she was forced to sit silently, studying the music instead of playing along. She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring down at her music. Her heartbeat was racing with each new well-dressed guest entering the backyard, and her mind was whirring with the transpositions she was mentally doing.

Maybe they wouldn’t get a cello here in time. Maybe they would be stuck with violin.

She heard a pickup truck rattle up the driveway, and Gwen looked up to see a valet take the keys from a dark-haired man. The guy pulled open the small door to the back seat, tugging out a cello case.

Well, fuck. It looked like she was doing this.

She stood to greet this “Alex,” and her muscles froze in place when Xander Thorne turned toward her, cello case hanging from his thick arm.

Alex. She’d never thought his name was actually Xander Thorne, but…

He was more than just a cellist. He was a recording artist. She’d been introduced to him for the first time last August—an awestruck wave in the upstairs of Carnegie Hall and a stammered greeting that sent her spiraling in embarrassment for hours afterward. Xander Thorne had just joined the new season for the Manhattan Pops. Hiring him had been a marketing strategy more than anything. Outside the Pops, he headlined an electric strings band called Thorne and Roses, and it had always been clear that his priority was there. He showed up late to every rehearsal, even missing one or two performances, which meant emergency subs had to be called. He rolled his eyes at the song choices, barked at his cello section, and never spoke to anyone except the conductor or the first chair, and that was only when he questioned a bowing or a tempo—loudly, proudly, self-righteously.

He was also the most amazing cellist of Gwen’s generation. She’d first discovered Thorne and Roses in high school and had downloaded every song faithfully ever since. She had just been listening to him in the Uber, for god’s sake. And it wasn’t just the electric strings band that she loved, or the bare-chested thirst traps posted to Instagram. She couldn’t take her eyes off him at the Pops either. He moved with the music, like it couldn’t help but pour out of him. Her violin mentor, Mabel, had always told Gwen she was too tense and needed to flow more, showing her videos of Hilary Hahn and Sarah Chang, whose violin solos seemed to take flight. But Gwen couldn’t ever feel the music like they did. Like Xander Thorne did. It was all very dramatic. She preferred a quiet passion.

Sometimes she could feel it when Xander Thorne played, with his wavy black hair swaying and flipping. She could see how important it was to have the music flowing through you like water.

And now he was bringing her a cello at a backyard luxury wedding in New Jersey.

Wonderful.

Gwen felt like a rabbit caught in the eye of a rifle as he strolled down the driveway, heading directly for her—cello case in one hand, garment bag in the other. He stopped in front of her, his dark brown eyes passing over her once. “You needed a cello?”

It was obvious he didn’t recognize her. Unsurprising, as he didn’t socialize at rehearsals, and she was good at blending into the background.

“Yes, thank you.” She looked away from his drawn brow and down at the case. Thank god it wasn’t the Stradivarius cello that he used at Pops. That one was worth almost a million dollars.

Bending swiftly to his knees, he popped the locks on the case and looked up at her through a curtain of his dark hair. “Did you forget to bring yours?”

She didn’t hear him at first, staring down at the silky finish of the wood, a beautiful stain for a beautiful instrument. He lifted it by its neck, and handed her the cello, plucking up the bow.

“Um, yes.” She took the neck, and their fingers brushed. “No, I mean.” She turned to her chair, refusing to make eye contact. “I brought my violin. I’m… I’m a violinist.”

She sat, and just as she was about to put the spike into the grass, he dropped a rest at her feet. She looked at him, following his long torso, up his chest to his broad shoulders, and finally to his scowling face. The sun was directly behind him, giving his hair a glow and his outline an angelic aura, and as her heart skipped, she despised that everything about this day was working against her.

“Do you play cello?” he said.

“Yes.” She left it at that and started flipping through the music to the beginning, placing her fingers on the fingerboard and silently working through the fingering in her mind. She was not about to test out these octaves while Xander Thorne stood two feet away, towering over her.

“That’s violin music.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” she hissed. “I’m a violinist, remember.”

“Then why aren’t you playing violin?” he said, like it was easy.

“Because Sonya—whoever that is—wanted a cello.” She kept her eyes off him, wishing him elsewhere.

“Sonya is the bride.”

Gwen glanced up, against her wishes. “Oh.” She really should read the emails Jacob forwarded to her.

His gaze was locked on her fingers, and she immediately shifted to a better positioning. She’d never been under his scrutiny before. At the Pops, all year she’d watched him scowl at the cellos and basses that were under him, giving them notes in a bored voice. But he’d had no reason before to look at her face or her fingers or her spread knees cradling his cello—

“Are you about to ruin this wedding?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him. Ah, yes. That was the Xander Thorne she’d grown accustomed to.

“Gwen’s really good,” Jacob piped in, and Xander turned, like he was seeing him for the first time. “She can play anything. She’s like a child prodigy.”

“Jacob, don’t—” she tried, squeezing her eyes shut.

“She’s been playing violin since she was eleven,” he continued, and Xander Thorne cut him off to glance back at Gwen.

“Eleven?” he said, in a mocking tone. “How impressive.”

She pressed her lips together. True child prodigies start playing at three.

“If you’re so concerned, why don’t you play?” she bit out.

“I can’t. I’m in the wedding party,” he said simply, lifting his garment bag.

She blinked up at him. So he knew Sonya well. Of course, he probably knew everyone who had a mansion in New Jersey.

“Alex!”

One of the other groomsmen stood on the veranda waving, rushing him inside.

Xander Thorne or Alex or whoever he was gave her one last haughty stare and then walked away on long legs, taking the stairs up to the main house three at a time.

Ugh, she hated when people did even two at a time. What kind of obnoxious giant would—

“Gwen, what do you need to practice?”

She jumped and shuffled the pages to “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” the bride’s chosen processional song. Unfortunately, now that the guests were here, she couldn’t just start playing the equivalent of “Here Comes the Bride,” but she did silently practice the ceremony songs while Jacob twinkled through “A Thousand Years.”

At five minutes till the wedding was set to begin, Ama came over to check in. “Hey,” she said, placing a friendly hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “I know you’re probably preparing, but I need to hear you play before we start. Can you join Jacob on the next pieces?”

Gwen nodded, knowing exactly what Ama wasn’t saying: I need to make sure you can actually play cello before the bride walks down the aisle to the sound of cats moaning in heat. She flipped to the pre-ceremony music as Jacob got the memo and brought “Can’t Help Falling in Love” to a natural conclusion.

As confident as she had claimed to be half an hour ago, Gwen really was afraid of what sound was going to pour from the strings. She tried to think of what Mabel would say to her, tried to think what it was like over a decade ago, using a bow for the first time on her violin.

She hadn’t cared what she sounded like. She’d just played. Page one then page two. And then on and on. And when she’d finished the entire beginner’s book, Mabel was standing in the doorway, her jaw slack and her arms crossed over her chest, staring at her like she was a ghost of someone else.

“Was it not good? I can get better if you let me come back,” eleven-year-old Gwen had stammered.

Mabel’s body had twitched, like it was just waking up. She’d asked Gwen to play the last two songs again for her, and then brought down the intermediate books.

Now, Gwen stared at the sheet music for “Creep” by Radiohead—an odd wedding selection, to be sure, but a gorgeous song on strings. She could capture that moment again. She would just stare at the book and play.

With the added challenge of mentally transposing the violin music to cello. Sure.

Jacob asked if she wanted to do anything different than what was on the music, but Gwen shook her head. She placed the bow on the strings, and waited for Jacob’s first four measures.

It wasn’t great. It was passably good, though. She followed her bow markings and the strings sang out the melody as Jacob played the broken chord accompaniment underneath. When “Creep” ended, Gwen felt a weight lift off of her. It was doable. She could make it happen.

Glancing over to the back porch, she saw Ama giving her a thumbs-up and a three-minute warning. Relief spread through her body.

Gwen turned the page in her music book and laughed. “Numb” by Linkin Park. Another beautiful one on strings, but more than that—one that Gwen had memorized.

Jacob took the opening measures again, and Gwen let her eyes drift, feeling the melody that she’d screamed to when she was young. The song seemed to have been on a constant loop her entire childhood. Her mother would yell into spatulas and hairbrushes with her, playing the pots and pans as drums and crowd-surfing her through the tight living room of their Queens apartment. When she was ten, Gwen had tried to convince her grandfather to include Linkin Park in the music for her mother’s funeral service, but he’d put his foot down.

The memory made her eyes sting and her lips tug in a smile. These songs were odd choices for a wedding, but she preferred “Numb” and “Creep” to traditional love songs. Something always felt forced about songs written about falling in love. She preferred playing the anti-love songs. The arrangements were always better.

Jacob let the final tinkering notes play from “Numb” as the last of the guests found their seats, and she checked her phone.

4:01 p.m.

Ama’s assistant came by to cue them, and they switched their music to “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” It was a very quick melody that Gwen had perfected years ago on the violin. On the cello… she was having trouble visualizing it all.

“Gwen, are you feeling good?” Jacob asked. “Do you want to just take the bass line?”

“No, no,” she said, eyes flying over the page. “I can do this. Just take the tempo down five clicks.”

The assistant prodded them again, and Gwen raised the bow, the muscles in her arm already tiring without the proper stamina for the cello. She met Jacob’s eyes. They synced their breath and began.

Gwen kept her gaze glued to the sheet music for the first eight measures. She slid through the page without breathing, finally taking a moment to glance back at Jacob when he took solo on the next eight. Her eyes flicked up to the procession just as Xander Thorne linked arms with Chelsea, the brunette bridesmaid, and led her down the aisle. She barely got a chance to note how amazing the charcoal gray tux looked on him before picking up the bow again and joining Jacob.

She wasn’t pleased with the way she was playing. She could have done so much better with practice. And she tried not to dwell on the fact that she was playing on Xander Thorne’s spare cello. Or the fact that she would not have worn a knee-length skirt if she’d known she would have a cello between her knees.

Xander Thorne’s cello.

No, no. Don’t think about Xander Thorne’s anything between your knees.

She looked at Jacob, and he gave her an encouraging nod. Checking ahead in the music, she remembered how she had purposefully memorized the violin part so she wouldn’t need her eyes on the binder. As much as she wished she had her violin, she could still trust her memory.

She envisioned the sheet music and let herself just play, imagining Mabel in the doorway of the practice room, imagining her mother singing Radiohead and not caring if she got the words right. Gwen closed her eyes and played, trusting herself. She didn’t open her eyes again until the bow pulled across the final chord.

The audience was standing, facing the floral arch. The bride had made it down the aisle. As the minister told everyone to take their seats, she looked at Jacob, and he beamed at her, shaking his head, silently laughing. She guessed that meant she’d pulled it off. Adrenaline flooded her veins, and Gwen was shocked at the rush. It felt so different to play without a safety net like that. She didn’t experience anything like that at the Pops, where everything was rehearsed and, while the music was fun, it was purposeful.

With trembling fingers, Gwen turned the page in the binder to the final song, looking over the solo line and figuring out what she’d have to do. It would be much easier than “Jesu.”

Once the ceremony was underway, she glanced back up, finding two of the tallest people she’d ever seen in her life holding each other’s hands in front of the minister. Gwen herself was not a short woman, but the bride had to be over six feet. She looked even taller with Xander Thorne standing behind her.

Gwen blinked. She’d guessed that when Xander said he was in the wedding party, that meant he was a groomsman. But the bride had Xander, Chelsea, and the light-haired model in a line behind her, so it was clear he was actually the man of honor. Gwen smiled. That’s what she’d probably have to do one day, with Jacob standing with her.

She cast her eyes over Chelsea again. And just as she gave up trying to place her, Gwen realized she recognized the groom as well. He was one of Xander Thorne’s band members in Thorne and Roses. Her gaze darted to the guests in chairs, and she found the other three members scattered among them. Her heart hammered in her throat. If she thought she was starstruck the first time she met Xander at Carnegie Hall, this was next level.

That’s how she knew Chelsea. She was all over Thorne and Roses’ social media accounts, sticking her tongue out in pictures and joining the band on out-of-town gigs. People went wild in the comments under a picture of her sitting next to Xander in a hot tub, asking if they were together and tagging the two of them incessantly. Neither one replied.

Gwen glanced at Xander and found him looking right at her. His expression was focused. Dark.

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 kee. . .