𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎/𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

𝟒𝟖 𝐒𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐇𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬

A/N 

Closing in on the finale! I am planning on taking a short break after this book ends, write some other things for a while, so I can return to Maria and Brian's story refreshed. 

I hope you enjoy this chapter, and don't forget to vote and let me know what you all think!

//

July 1976

Brian

"I could not be happier that we've finished sorting the house out."

I looked up from my acoustic and over at Maria with a genuine smile.

"I don't think they would've asked us if we hadn't."

"That's not true," I started, looking down once again and starting to pluck at the intricate pattern I'd been trying to perfect for The Millionaire Waltz. "They would have just asked us to go round to theirs instead."

"Maybe. But still, for my own sanity, I'm glad we've got everything done." Maria punctuated her point with switching on the hoover.

I don't know if this was weird, or abnormal, but seeing Maria in full domestic mode warmed my heart. I always knew she didn't care for tradition, that her opinions on gender exclusive work were that it seemed silly, and that she hated cleaning in general because of the physical texture of it. But she didn't seem to mind cleaning our place. Perhaps it was because it was ours, and she didn't have to share it with anyone else but me.

As I peered up over the guitar, I found myself smiling as she chewed on her lower lip, willing the hoover to pick up whatever had made a home in the carpet in the living room.

We really had made our house a home by this point, and just in time for recording to start. Maria really wanted the house to have character. She didn't want a regular old house. And I couldn't help but agree. So much so, that within the first week, we'd decided on a large, framed poster, excellent quality, of Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock, carefully positioned in the hallway. It was tasteful, and added a lot of life to the house as soon as you walked in.

The bookshelf in the living room had an array of books on a variety of topics; ranging from my own interests, mostly space, the sky, and musical engineering, to Maria's chaotic collection of things from the production of popular music to her copies of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest and Lolita, and of course some business books that she'd dragged along with her since university and still had a look in every now and then. I think she even had a few books on dog breeds and woodland animals. But I remember it was mostly music.

Looking back, we really didn't go for anything too extravagant. We didn't want to be that couple that owned a luxurious house with the ornate furnishings. We truly did just want a normal house where we can grow, evolve, live comfortably. The possibilities of living with the love of your life seem endless, and so our decision to keep everything humble didn't seem like such a restrictive feat.

More importantly—above everything else—Maria was happy. I could tell that she was happy. Of course, she would have her moments, but that was expected. All I knew, or could tell, was that I hadn't seen her this vivacious in a really long time.

Maria had only just sat down on the armchair in the corner beside the fireplace when a knock at the door interrupted the domestic silence. I chuckled as she groaned and went to get up, but I shot up before her.