𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎/𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

𝟓𝟎 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫

A/N 

Here it is, guys. The finale of Get Your Heart Beating. 

Honestly, I can't believe that I've managed to finish two whole books. But Maria and Brian's story is far from over. 

And if you want to see the third book, make sure to BOMBARD me in the comments. Tell me what you think. And more importantly... thank you for being so supportive and sticking with me throughout the past 4 years. 

I will be taking a short break from writing Brian and Maria after this part is published, and I'm going to try and complete the works in progress I have saved on my computer. So far, there's an unfinished second part of Allure (the one shot you can find in my Queen One Shot book), a 1969 Bri one shot, the third part of a three-part Robert Plant and Jimmy Page fic (which I may publish as a book on here), as well as another Robert one shot. 

Like I said, please stick around and show me you're here, otherwise I won't know if it's worth continuing the series! 

Anyway... I sincerely hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. I love you all. And thank you! xx

//

September 17th, 1976 – London, England

Maria

"Hey, hey, chill out, you're fine." I reached out for Brian and stopped him from grabbing his amplifier from the back of the van. "Let me do it."

"You can't carry it, it's too heavy."

"Yes, I can carry it, Brian, I'm not that feeble."

"I didn't say you were feeble."

"And I didn't say that you said I was feeble."

"You implied it."

"Incorrect."

"Correct."

"Just let me do it, Maria."

"No, you're stressing yourself out too much. You'll do yourself in, then you'll hate yourself. So do as you're told and go inside."

There was what can only be describe as a stand-off between Brian and me.

Before there are any gross misunderstandings, we weren't arguing.

We both woke up in a very playful mood. So much so that he thought it would be a good idea to chase me around the house with a cup and a magazine, claiming there was a spider inside.

"No, come here, he wants to make friends!"

"Brian, piss off!"

"Aw, come back, look at his big, long legs!"

"That's you, you prat!"

It took him ten minutes to convince me he was only messing with me once I'd locked myself in the bathroom. And what followed was an apology—an extended, steamy apology in the confines of our shower.

On our way to the rehearsal space that they had booked out, Brian's hand stayed glued to my thigh, only leaving it occasionally when he needed it to drive. He was very clingy that morning. Almost like he needed to keep me close out of fear that I would vanish before his eyes. I have to admit that I enjoyed this attention, but it did strike me as odd.