Defending Lucy Part I

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Lucy's POV

The days, the hours, the minutes ticked by, faster than I thought possible. My time with Chris was coming to a close, but before we said goodbye, we had his Apple thing to attend. I'd pushed it to the back of my mind as much as possible, but I couldn't any longer. It was tonight and in about half an hour I would have to start getting ready. 

"are you sure you didn't want any dinner?" Chris voice asked, interrupting my train of thought. I turned away from watching Dodger ahead of me as we walked through the grassy field, to see Chris following behind. "oh, no. Thanks" I smiled, but he saw straight through it. "you still feeling nervous huh?" he asked, giving me an understanding smile. I let out a sigh and nodded. "Kind of an understatement" I smiled at him. 

"Sweetheart..." he said, moving quicker to catch up to me, Dodger still scurrying around in front of us, sniffing at the new smells around his feet. "if you don't want to go, I understand." He said, taking my hand in his. "really I do." he sighed, pulling me to a stop. He turned me to face him, holding both of my hands in his and looking down at me, "You know how I feel about these kind of things at the best of times. And I do them all the time" he told me gently. "so if you decide, even at the last minute that you can't do it- I'll understand" he raised my hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of them. I blushed at his sweet gesture and nodded. 

"I won't bail on you. I promise" I swore to him. "but it's just a big deal. All those cameras, the questions, the eyes staring...I mean at you" I quickly corrected. "I mean, they won't look at me, o-only at you. A-and then maybe at me because I'm with you..." I stammered, embarrassing myself. "ugh! It's just. It's a lot" I rubbed my brow with the back of my hand; Chris still clinging onto the other. "Just don't think about all that." His smooth calm voice always soothed away my worries. "If you start to freak out, or feel like you can't do it, then just squeeze my hand tight and remember that I am right there beside you. Okay?" his words always assured me. I blinked some random nervous tears away and nodded at him. "I love you Sweetheart." he sighed, with a smile. His thumb brushing over my cheek as he leaned down to press a kiss to my mouth. My knees almost buckled.

........

I had never known anything like it. The hustle and bustle going around in Chris' house right now was overwhelming. A little over 2 hours ago his little 'team' had arrived to beautify Chris and I ahead of tonight's event. And when I say Chris and I, I really just mean myself. How can they actually improve on perfection where Chris was concerned? I'd not seen him in the last hour and a half; he had been taken into one of the guest rooms with talk of a hair cut and make up. I had to say I was more alarmed of the idea of them cutting his hair right now than any make up they would put on his skin. Myself on the other hand, I was hustled into the bathroom of the main guest room where the lighting was bright from the light shining through the huge window over the bathtub. 

Tracey, the lady that Chris had introduced me to when they all arrived had set up all of her make up, tools and whatever it was she planned on using on me, across the counter top and was perusing her brushes as I perched on the kitchen stool in the middle of the room. 

"now sweetie, Chris told me that he has had a dress picked up for you-"

"oh but no..." I interrupted, frowning. "I-I am wearing one of my own dresses." I blushed, hoping I didn't sound rude. But she smiled at me kindly, "sorry, I um...I had planned on wearing one of my own- I didn't know Chris had gotten me one" I blushed more. But she still smiled. "well," she sighed with a smile, "how about we get some colour palettes out, and pick some colours to bring out those pretty brown eyes of yours hm?" she patted my hand in a motherly way. "and then we can worry about picking the dress later?" I smiled back at her and nodded. "sounds good" I breathed out, trying to convince myself.

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