A/N: This chapter is finally out - hallelujah! Below is my favourite photo of George & Pattie. It's them outside their very groovy home, about to leave for their preliminary hearing. Enjoy! xx

March 18, 1969 - Tuesday Morning.
Kinfauns.

George peeked through the shades, confronted by the flash of cameras, causing him to pull the blinds back. "Shit," he hissed. "Caught me."

He walked to the bedroom, and only one step in the room was he startled by his wife's voice.

"How many out there now?" Pattie asked, adjusting her earrings.

She sat at the dressing table, her long, blonde hair flowing down her back.

"Didn't count," George remarked, sitting on the bed, and Pattie tutted in response at his unhelpful answer.

He heard her deep sighs as she applied make-up, and the exhalation of tension felt like they were coming from his body as well, in some odd way. The preliminary hearing for the drug bust was today, and the press were already parked outside their house for a glimpse of the recent couple targeted by Sgt. Pilcher. George still wasn't over the fact that he had come home to the mess of the police after Wales, and now the unnecessary publicity because of it. Through this build-up of annoyance, George was pulled from his thoughts by the shout of his name and a shaky bang. He looked up. Pattie had slammed her hand against the dresser to get his attention, her eyes boring into his. George knew those eyes, had studied them so many times, and yet now he seemed to know a pair of hazel, youthful ones a whole lot better than his wife's.

"Are you listening to me?" Pattie asked incredulously. With the shake of her head, she reached for the lipstick.

What's her problem?, George wondered. His mind wasn't functioning that morning, torn between numerous items in his heart and brain.

"M'sorry, what'd yer say?" George ran a hand down his face, completely exhausted of the shit that was his life. Between the Beatles, bullshit court cases, the attention of May, and his home life...it was all so tiring. And he thought life wasn't supposed to be so...draining.

After frustrating silence, he grunted, "I'm listenin' now,"

Their eyes met again, and Pattie put down the lipstick, "You're not here now, and you weren't here then...so what does it matter?" She got up from the chair, walking to the wardrobe, whilst George was losing it over her vague answers.

"Then?"

George watched Pattie examine a few items of clothing before abandoning the wardrobe and instead walking to the chest of drawers to choose a scarf.

"What's 'then'?" he repeated.

"The day of the bust, George!" Pattie exclaimed. "Where were you?" she questioned, looking at him once. Picking up a pink, satin scarf, hovering it over her chest, and checking in the mirror, Pattie, dissatisfied, placed it back in the drawer, continuing to search through the various fabrics. Through this procedure, George's mind raced. He could usually make something up...he had lied to his wife before. But he couldn't think of anything suitable for this particular situation.

"They called you...I was worried - everyone was," she continued, "The police surrounded the house, George. And you..." she sighed. Pattie then distracted herself by deciding whether a burgundy or orange scarf would be best.

There was guilt...and inadequacy...and shame...but also love. Thoughts, emotions, and morals clouded...and now his wife was asking where he had been for three days. Why he hadn't been there to protect her and sort these things out.

"Do you want the truth...or a lie?" he whispered.

****

March 14, 1969 - Friday Evening.
Marie and Robert's Apartment - May's room.

"27 days."

"27 days til' what?" May mumbled across Peter's chest. They were lying on her bed, cuddled up to each other. It had been some time now since they were alone and so intimate. The apartment was to themselves; Robert was scheduled for a late shift at the printers, while Marie was out having afternoon tea with the neighbours.

"April 11." He began to lightly caress her back, and due to her silence, Peter then clarified, "The wedding day, May,"

"Yeah, I know the date," she replied, irritation edging her tone.

"Mum was counting the days last night on the calendar. I overheard it,"

"Sounds exciting,"

Peter smirked, ending May's short back rub with a few soothing circles near her neck, before patting her shoulder, "Hop up, better get goin'."

"Where are you off to? It's only 5." May sat up, stretching her back.

"We're just havin' an early supper is all. Mum said so," Peter replied.

"Oh, okay," May watched Peter tuck in his shirt, as he stood next to the bed.

"Y'know, May," Peter knelt on the bed, his hand grasping her's, "We're gonna have our own place soon, after the wedding and all,"

May nodded, "Yeah, my parents seem to have enough bread these days, could get us a place maybe,"

The words seemed easy to say, even though she didn't wish to say them, or to even think of them.

"My parents were thinking the same...but I have a different plan for us," Peter's blue eyes brightened.

"What's that?"

Peter sat properly on the bed, kissing May's hand quickly, "Let's get out of London. Start somewhere new, it'll just be us...let's do it after the wedding,"

May stared at him, unable to comprehend his eagerness and wild imagination. Her immediate response was to decline; she didn't want to leave her parents, she didn't want to leave her friends...and she definitely didn't want to leave George, particularly when he had promised her he would stay in contact. Nevertheless, she allowed Peter to elaborate on his idea.

"I have school, Pete,"

"I know, and you will continue until you graduate." he squeezed her hand. "Let's wait until your 18, we can get enough dough and then have enough for two tickets to the U.S.A,"

"America? You wanna move there?"

"Why not? Everyone's there...it's a 'happening',"

"It's a happening here too," she replied, and Peter stood from the bed, pacing around the room to add emphasis to his plan.

Peter explained they would go to California, like they wanted to when May was fifteen and he was sixteen. May can remember her enthusiasm to travel, and would complain to Peter day and night about how she desperately wanted to move out with him when she was old enough. She would like to visit California, that was definitely a dream of her's...but she now imagined the trip without him.

"We're getting married next month, y'know that?"

His question snapped her from the dwelling.

"I know...yer think I've forgotten?" she paused, sighing, "The dress, the shoes..." May randomly began to list items... "...we're paying off the church...everything's pretty much set. So why ask that question?"

Peter shrugged, although he knew the answer to her interrogation. Things between them were unsettled and tense, just not the same as before. And Peter was really missing that. There was a time when hanging out was part of the everyday routine, meeting up during lunchtime at school, sneaking a kiss or two behind the basketball court bathrooms. It had been at least a week or more that Peter had last seen May. Occasionally, he felt guilty that it was him avoiding her and her absence was due to his actions.

Peter wanted to marry May, he truly did, but sometimes he wondered what the present would be like if he hadn't proposed.

"Do you want out, May?"

"No," she replied, playing with a loose thread on her skirt. "C'mon, let's forget this-

"Why is it that I feel like I hardly know you anymore?"

Where did your long hair go?

Where is the girl I used to know...

"I-I don't know?" May stuttered. It was an odd question to her because at the current time, May felt as if she was the same person, but to everybody else she was a stranger.

"You're different...don't pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about!" Peter's voice raised, as he crossed his arms, leaning against her chest of drawers.

Next to Peter, sitting beautifully on top of the drawers, was the Durga statue that George sweetly gave her as a gift.

"What's that?" Peter had asked the second he walked into her bedroom earlier in the afternoon.

"What...?" and May followed his gaze to the gold, exquisite statue. "Oh, that's Durga. Say hi,"

"Hi? What the fuck?"

"Durga's a Hindu goddess..." May walked over to the statue, gently touching one of her many arms. "George said it will-

"George?"

"Oh..." May was cursing that she had let that one spill...here comes the argument, she thought. "George Harrison gave it to me- us...he gave it to us. He knows about the engagement..." she was rambling, lie upon lie, but it seemed to be working. "And, uh, Durga apparently helps with bad spirits, and George thought that, that would be good for the marriage, yer see?"

"Getting blessings from a Beatle, hey?" Peter walked over to May, kissing her cheek, hand on her waist. "He's not countin' on an invite is he?"

May laughed, a bit too loudly she noted, "No, of course not...he was just being friendly," she smiled. "Just friendly."

"I think it's Apple. You haven't been right since you started working there," Peter stated matter-of-factly.

"Not right?" her eyebrow raised. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I've heard stuff, May..." Peter's accusation sent her heart pounding rapidly, mind racing, narrowing down to the affair immediately. But how would he know? "They sell you pills at the door...that's how they greet you,"

"What?" May questioned, silently thankful. "That's just talk! They hardly take drugs..." she had to pause, to ensure she said the correct words in order to cease any suspicion from Peter. "Well, at least I haven't seen them do it. Sometimes we have drinks, that's all,"

"Drinks? What the hell, May? You're not even a fan of alcohol. Whenever I invite you to the pub you refuse,"

"Since when do you ever 'invite me' to the pub? That's something you do with the guys - which by the way, you're always fucking doing, so maybe you should shut up!"

Peter didn't respond, and due to this, May nastily said, "So who isn't thinking of the wedding now?"

He groaned loudly, slamming his fist into the chest of drawers, the Durga statue wobbling slightly. "Fuck off, May!" he seethed, "I'm out with my friends, that's my business,"

"It hurts when someone threatens something you like, doesn't it?" The question came out of her mouth so naturally, that she wasn't sure if it was even meant for Peter directly, but for everyone. May felt threatened that she would have to give Apple and everyone else she loved up. And her fiancé was about to emphasise her fears even more.

"After the wedding I want you to quit Apple, I'm sick of hearing about it,"

"No way."

"We're moving to America anyway, you'll have to quit sometime,"

"Since when are we moving to America? I never fucking agreed to do that. And besides...my mum would want me here, in London. So no way,"

Peter shook his head, walking to the end of the bed, collecting his jacket, "I can't do this anymore. I'm outta here,"

Their eyes met when he was about to leave her bedroom, full of doubt about their relationship, as nausea swept through her stomach and around her throat, almost suffocating her. May didn't want Peter to leave just yet, she did want to sort things out and not end the day on angry terms. But he obviously didn't want to, as she heard the front door shut softly down the hall. May's gaze fell to the Durga statue on top of her drawers, George's words entering her mind...

It's ridding the bad stuff from within us, but also protecting us from the bad people around us...

May spent all night trying to figure out who exactly Durga was trying to protect her from, as well as the bad stuff in her soul.

****

March 15, 1969 - Saturday.

May knocked on the front door, clutching the folder of school work in her arms. There was a few minutes until she heard the door unlock.

"Hi May, how are you today?"

"Good, Mr. Jones. Is Gina home?"

"Sure, yes," Gina's father opened the screen door for May to enter the house, "She's in her room,"

May walked down the hall, as Mr. Jones locked the front door. She past the living room, into the kitchen, where she found Gina's mother. May stopped, feeling a sense of intrusion, as she gazed at Mrs. Jones. She was stationary, in the middle of her ironing, evident by the iron board and basket of clothes next to her. Mrs. Jones didn't seem to notice May as she was in her own reverie, and when May followed her gaze, it lead to a photograph of Roger, or "Rog" as May used to call him - Gina's brother. It was roughly two months since he died in Vietnam. Gina and May hardly spoke about it, except the night at the party, when Gina sobbed in her arms all night about his death - it was the same night May disclosed the tragedy to George. She hadn't even told her parents.

"Mrs. Jones?" after no response, May repeated a little louder, "Mrs. Jones?!" Her thoughts wandered to where Mr. Jones was, and how there was little activity in the house. It was eerie, and the atmosphere gloomy, besides the lit candle on the T.V cabinet, next to the framed photograph of Rog.

May tapped Mrs. Jones shoulder, which resulted in a harsh look from the older woman. May was apologetic, unsure for what exactly however.

"She's in her room." Mrs. Jones stated, resuming her ironing. May nodded, exiting the kitchen.

"English and Science homework, at your service," May immediately said as she placed the work on her friend's desk.

"Yer life saver," Gina lay on the bed, facing the window.

"What's up?" May closed the bedroom door.

Gina patted her stomach, "Bad period."

Period. May had the on-and-off emotional parts, yet not the full thing. She was at least two weeks late now. Nausea and crying was the latest symptom for her lately. Following the argument with Peter yesterday, and contemplation of Durga, May began to think weird thoughts. After a while, she was convinced that the bad stuff within her that Durga was warning her about was the illegitimate child she was possibly carrying. It scared the shit out of May, and the fear of pregnancy...or whatever was happening to her, caused her anxiety for most of the night. May wanted to see a doctor, ease her worries, get tested, do anything to help her out...but she couldn't tell her parents. She couldn't tell George because he was bound to flip. She thought Gina might be suitable, although currently being in their house seemed to freak May out with the mourning and guilt eating everyone up. Thus, May changed the subject, swallowing back her panic.

"Is that why you skipped yesterday?" May perched on the wooden desk, fiddling with a random 2B pencil she found on its surface.

"Yeah, sorta," Gina sat up. "We had to do this weird ceremony in the backyard for Rog. It's nearly been two months, it's flown by,"

"Yeah..." May looked out the window, replaying in her mind what she saw in the kitchen, "How's everyone holdin' up?"

"Mum's not really in - mentally wise...Dad's okay, I'm...ehh," Gina sighed. "Can we talk about somethin' else?"

"Oh, yeah...sure,"

After an hour or so, the mood had loosened up, and the girls were laughing and chatting. May joined Gina on the bed, as they gossiped about school, graduation, and the music scene.

"What's that?" Gina touched May's pearl necklace. "I've never seen it before. It's pretty,"

"Oh, thanks,"

"Is that the necklace yer family passes down - the one your mum has, and you hate it?"

May laughed, "No, no, not Grandma Helen's...I get that on the day of the wedding." she paused, twirling the pearl in between her thumb and forefinger. "It's from George,"

Gina's eyes widened, shocked "Wow...looks expensive,"

"It is. I think it's real,"

"Does he get you stuff usually?" Gina asked, leaning back on the pillows.

"I guess. He got me this statue too, it's the most beautiful thing I've seen,"

"Jesus, he really knows how to impress, huh?"

"Yeah, sure he does," May answered softly, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Talking about George with Gina always made her feel that way.

"Does he get the others gifts?"

"I don't know." she replied in a short tone. "Maybe you should ask him,"

"Does his wife ever come by?"

"Only that once...not since then,"

"I saw him in the papers...the drugs-

"Yeah, I know - I saw it too, alright?" May replied, hurt. Gina was allowed to ask questions about George, May had said so before, but the seventeen year old was nervous from the interrogation."What is your point?" She left the the bed, standing by the window, arms crossed.

"The point is Peter..." Gina reminded May. "Is George gonna continue giving you gifts and you having to hide them from your husband for the rest of your life?"

May couldn't answer that, ignoring the question, and instead requesting, "Can we talk about somethin' else?"

****

March 20, 1969 - Thursday.
Apple Studios and Office - Late Afternoon.

May knocked on the office door, balancing the tray of tea in the other hand. It was the office of Derek Taylor, and May had received urgent request of tea minutes prior to be delivered - she figured he must have a meeting and need a delicious cuppa before starting business. Although she heard no response, May opened the door anyway, about to announce her presence, when she saw the back of Derek's desk chair - instead of his face - and the telephone was in his hand. She heard soft "hmm" and "yes", which confirmed to May that he was dealing with something important. May left the tray on his desk, intending to leave the room silently, when she accidentally knocked the metal cup of pens and pencils over.

"Shit," May hissed, and she could've sworn she heard a hushed chuckle from the male in front of her.

After May cleaned up the mess, she headed for the door, stopping in her footsteps once she heard,

"Don't I get a 'hello' from yer, June?"

Only one person called her 'June', and she smiled excitedly at the realisation. She turned around to find George now out of the chair, standing behind the desk.

"I thought you were Derek, and that you were talking to a business person," she explained.

"You didn't make a real good job of keeping quiet, did yer?"

"Well my job isn't to be quiet, it's to make teas," 

George smirked, beckoning her over. May raced into his arms, as he picked her up, sitting her on top of the desk, the sound of their lips together and the crinkle of paper on the desk as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

"I missed you so much," she admitted immediately once his lips were off his.

"It hasn't been long, but it feels that way, I know," George replied, cupping her cheek in his hand, kissing her once more.

"What did the cops say? I read about it in the papers, George. Mum was all worried and freaked out,"

"Yeah, well..." George mumbled, imagining how May's father must think of him now. "C'mere'," and he took her hand, and they sat on the wooden chair, May on his lap.

"Wasn't it weird how the cops had pulled us over before that? Do you think it's linked to that...?"

George laughed, "I don't think so, June." his hand caressed her leg, "You think of funny things, y'know?"

"I've spent all weekend thinking about it. About everything..."

"Everything?" he kissed her jawline, a peck near her ear, "What's 'everything'?"

"Wales." May answered, her arms now around George's neck. "Do you think about it?"

"Yeah," he breathed, "It was all I could think about as they took our fingerprints,"

May smiled, but it was one of sadness and ache. With the pair longing for another escape, they distracted themselves with different topics. Or rather, May filled the air with conversation, whilst George pretended he was interested, choosing to play with the hem of her skirt, or feel the warmth of her skin against his lips, or fiddle with her braid, that rested on her shoulder.

"George..." she twitched in his embrace, her hands now on his shoulders. "I should really get back...it's been half an hour,"

"Can't yer make an excuse?" he kissed up her neck, to her mouth. "Yer always come up with somethin',"

"Like what?" she breathed, cheeks flushed. She could already feel his hard on poking through her skirt. It had been that way for a few minutes now, but May had chosen to ignore it.

"I..." George kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jawline...her everything. "...I don't know," he mumbled, his hand now under her white blouse, "Just think of fucking something, I want you right now,"

Although she returned his kisses and remained in his lap, May was hesitant to stay at all. Something in the back of her mind was causing the nerves, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Was the guilt finally catching up with her? Or Paul's words to 'be careful' around George? She was being careful...well, trying to be. But she also loved being with George, and nothing about that was 'careful'. They were all over each other in Apple constantly, fooling around in whichever bathroom stall or closet they could find; they had somehow managed to plan and execute a short holiday in Wales - which was nearly discovered due to the police in the drug bust and speeding fine - they were nearly caught by May's parents when arriving back from their trip to Greece, and to top it off, there was the overwhelming fear that May was pregnant due to a slip up one time.

But when George told her to "lock the door" and "unbutton my pants", that was met without hesitation. George never forced May to do things. May lusted for George, she always would. However, she also would have been content with strictly talking that afternoon, rather than having sex. She lacked the confidence to communicate her wishes. May rationalised that it was nerves - but what nerves? Why couldn't things be like before? When they would hook up and it would be fun and May wasn't reduced to a bundle of confusion and worry.

"I've missed you..." he uttered as his hands explored everywhere from underneath her shirt, to the hem of her skirt, to where he could then pull down her stockings. "I've missed your lips..." and he kissed them, tenderly and slow. "And I've missed doing this..." he mumbled upon her mouth, his hand cupping her breast through her blouse. George's hand moved to her chin, "But I've missed your lips more than anything else,"

Although there was unease from May, her mind couldn't stop the flustering, and quivering breaths, and the arousal that seemed to hit her entire body. There was a pull in her to stop and to continue, and the more she thought about it, the more she figured that it was Gina's worries about George and Peter that stimulated the confusion. Gina caused May to question her morals and feel guilty about the affair; her friend basically forced her to stop ignoring the obvious. This was deeply troubling for the seventeen year old, and the combination of anger at her friend, and George's teasing hands and lips, resulted in May submitting to his touch, beginning to favour her lover over everyone else.

****

"Do you want the truth...or a lie?" he whispered.

"The truth, George," Pattie answered, halting her actions, yet her hands remained in the drawer of scarves, back to her husband.

He had to decide then...it was getting difficult to be dishonest. He was lying to May about the deals he was making with her parents, he was lying to his wife about the seventeen year old that make him feel so good, he was lying to his band mates about the Klein deal...he was lying to himself. Because George knew this affair would be trouble, and instead of listening to his friend or judgement, he allowed it to grow out of control. When would be the day that he would finally set the truths free?

"Okay...I was gone for so long, and I know I should have told you. It was my fault, I was being the selfish one, alright?"

Pattie listened, her mouth too dry to swallow, fingers gripping onto the burgundy scarf tightly.

"Look, it was this place up in Wales...a shack of some sort..." George took a deep breath, "Eric invited me, yeah? He wanted to jam...I think his girlfriend's family owned the place...he wanted to hang out, and things got out of hand...I didn't want you to know, and I'm sorry,"

Today, George did not tell the truth.

Today, Pattie also did not tell the truth.

"Eric Clapton?"

"Is there any other?" George smirked. "But, yeah, Clapton,"

Pattie's cheeks flushed red, her breathing almost stopping as the nerves hit her quite violently. Her hands were close to shaking, and she licked her lips, the bitter taste of her lipstick coating her tongue. Should she get angry at herself because Eric had been in their house when George was away...sitting in his spot at the dinner table...talking and talking. Or angry at her husband, who was obviously now telling her a lie, because the person he claimed to be with was actually with her.

"Sounds like some party, then." Pattie chose the burgundy scarf, closing the drawer gently.

"Yeah."

George stood, approaching Pattie, contemplating if he should kiss her, to try and make himself feel better, or at least make his wife feel better. Instead, they stared into each other's eyes...and they hardly recognised one another.

****

March 22, 1969 - Saturday Afternoon.
Robert and Marie's Apartment - May's bedroom.

"Durga," George nodded to the statue, walking over to touch one of her many arms, "It looks beautiful in here,"

"Thanks - well, I should be thanking you for the present, G," May smiled. "Mum didn't want it out in the living room - like I wanted. But she settled for it in my room, so everyone's happy,"

George smiled back, "Glad you like it, June."

May lingered near the bed, finally sitting on the edge. She secretly desired for George to join her, but he remained stationary next to the chest of drawers. "So looks like we'll be let off with a fine for the drugs," he remarked.

"Oh, that's good. Shouldn't be too much of a hassle since you've...got enough, yeah?" May wasn't sure where she was going with that sentence, and for a second worried if it sounded like an insult, but George laughed, replying, "It's not too much. It will soon be forgotten..."

They heard a knock, Marie standing at the door frame, "Now why are you two hiding away in here?" George and May looked at each other, and Marie laughed. "George, do you think you'll be staying for dinner?"

"Hmm...well, I don't see why not. Hope it's no trouble, Mrs. S." and May smirked at George's kiss-ass answer.

"No, no. None at all," Marie then gasped, "You know what would be great? May, why don't you show George your dress, hey honey?"

"Mum, seriously? It takes like 15 minutes to get into it," she whined. "You said you didn't want it wrecked,"

"George won't be there on the day, May," and the comment stung her daughter for a while after. "C'mon, I'll help you into it...be right back, George,"

"Sure, take your time,"

George's initial reason for his visit to the Shepard's was to deliver the 310 pounds - while May was out per Marie's instructions to inquire if the neighbours had any milk, George handed the bread to the parents. He had made two previous deliveries - last Saturday, when May was at Gina's, and on Wednesday, while May was at school. This was to be George's final one; after that, Robert was to travel to Apple Offices and collect the money himself. George was unsure when the Shepard deal would finish, but with no Apple employees complaining to Klein or the Office about their decrease in pay, it would continue.

George waited in May's bedroom, as she changed into the dress in her parent's room. Marie was making tea in the kitchen, Robert fiddling with the record player in the living room, whilst George, reclining back on the mattress, reminisced fondly of the Wales trip. There was a desire in him to go back...to the house, to the bed, to the monopoly board, to the garden. He knew the chances were slim however. A second trip would cause extra suspicion, and he was already on thin ice with Pattie. He was so, very happy on the trip, and everything currently was strenuous and the people annoying, and he felt a lack of motivation and passion. May was this cute, little distraction George couldn't get enough of, but he could sense this....uncertainty, that somehow he would grow tired of her too.

"Tea's nearly done,"

George sat up, a bit too quickly however, that a wave of dizziness overcame him. "Fuck," he mumbled, a hand on his head.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded, removing his hand, finally looking at May. She looked like any bride should; beautiful, and in white. He'd stare at her in that dress for eternity if he could, she was just so gorgeous. However, a mixture of jealousy, rage, and pain ran through him just as strong as his attraction, and he didn't know how to respond - by kissing her, or yelling at her for marrying someone else.

"I know this..." May sighed, lowering her voice, "I know we usually don't talk about the wedding too much...but, honestly, what do you think of this dress?"

George swallowed, his mouth getting dry, as he contemplated the right response. After a long pause, he came up with, "I don't...I don't know,"

"Well, is it horrible or...what?" she asked, confused.

"I don't know what you want me to say, June." he shrugged. "I don't even think I should be here for this,"

May was about to speak, when her mother appeared, behind her, interrupting the conversation, "Oh, George! You've seen the dress, beautiful isn't it?" a beaming smile on Marie's face.

George nodded, standing up from the bed, "I think I should go now, it's getting on a bit,"

"Oh, but...we've made tea...and Robert's going to put on some music, c'mon stay now,"

George would've been out of there sooner, but May was blocking the door. Not intentionally, but she just didn't move, and he wouldn't push past her whilst her mother was directly behind her, it would seem rude that way.

"Okay, fine, I'll stay for a bit." George smiled, although it was a forced, Beatle smile.

"Great, I'll set it up in the living room...God, isn't this a fantastic dress, George?" Marie patted May's shoulder lightly, straightening out the creases. "My daughter just looks stunning, doesn't she?"

George nodded again, "Very much so,"

"May, I've made you a cup, and your favourite biscuits...be out there soon, okay?"

May was about to reply that she wasn't hungry, when her mother said, "And make sure to hang the dress properly on the hanger and in my wardrobe for safe keeping, we don't want anything happening to that beautiful dress. Do we now, George?" Marie smiled at him, and May blushed from the attention.

George agreed, "No. We don't," 

Once Marie excused herself from the pair, May said, "You don't have to stay if you don't wanna. You don't have to say yes to everything she says, y'know?"

George smirked at that, a hand in on his waist. "I don't say yes to everything. I just didn't want to pass down good company, is all,"

"I don't believe you." she quivered, as if on the verge of tears, and it occurred to George that perhaps May was embarrassed by the situation. She was practically forced by her mother to put the dress on and show it off in front of him, only for his approval. And based on the extremes Marie asked for George's opinion on the dress, it was clearly only to impress him - and why? most likely because he was fucking rich. And Marie Shepard was feeding off his money - well, at least most of the Apple employee's money. George couldn't believe he was in the middle of this deal, nevertheless, he felt powerless to withdraw his offer to the Shepard's.

"I better get out of this thing, there's tea and biscuits to be had. Right?" May stated monotonously.

As she turned to leave, the tune "Heart of My Heart" by the Four Aces filtered in from the living room, and George quickly grasped May's wrist, the word "Don't" coming out through a sharp exhale. As George's hand ran up her arm, and onto her shoulder, he said, "You do really look beautiful, y'know?"

"I don't care," she hissed at him. "You know I don't want this, George,"

Although George's main reason for suggesting the 'Shepard money deal' was to get closer to May - which was being fulfilled to an extent, as he was certain that he wouldn't have been able to get a preview of the wedding dress unless he had paid for it - there was still guilt in him that he was edging May closer to something she really didn't want. He knew she was hesitant about the marriage - he was aware of it when the Shepard's and him agreed on the exchange - and now he felt like even more of an asshole.

"I know," George replied. "C'mon," his hand upon her waist, guiding her closer to him, "We should dance, you'll have to practice for the day,"

May sighed, "I already know how to dance," she rested her arms around his neck, as his stayed just above her hips.

"Well then, I need practice, I'll follow your lead,"

Pattie didn't wear a traditional white, wedding dress. Their wedding was a rush. An event crammed into an already busy schedule of being a Beatle. Her lack of traditional costume didn't matter too much, and he could understand at the time that an extravagant, fancy wedding would not be the best option - although the press did have a field day over it anyway. However, viewing May in this breathtaking dress certainly altered George's opinion. He was reminded of his teenage years, and his occasional fantasises of what his wedding day would be like. They were only silly, immature dreams...but they all included a beautiful girl, in a white wedding dress.

May didn't fit his seventeen year old vision of what a woman should be in that she wasn't blonde, blue eyes, big tits and a model with a french accent. But George was certain even his seventeen year old self would approve of May, despite her brown hair, crooked teeth, and tendency to dramatise. The fact that May conjured up these forgotten desires messed him up - it messed him up a whole lot. She always did that; brought up the good memories. And of course it seemed like a good thing and could be a nice feeling of nostalgia. However, when life was currently shit and tense and down, the good memories only left a bitter taste in George's mouth. It caused pain and depression, because that goodness appeared so faraway to the present. And it was the first time George resented May; she reminded him too much of how life used to be free and simple.

Heart of my heart, meant friends were dearer then,
Too bad we had to part.
I know a tear would glisten, if once more I could listen,
To that gang that sang, "Heart of my heart".

Marie approached the bedroom, about to inquire what was taking so long, when she halted near the door frame. What first was shock soon softened, as George and May swayed to the music. Robert joined his wife, peeking into the room, and when his eyes locked on George, with particular notice to his hands all over his daughter like that, he immediately turned away. He shared a look with his wife, and when he discovered approval and delight in her eyes, he shook his head, and muttered bitterly, "I need some air."

Marie watched her husband walk onto the balcony and light a cigarette. The 'George deal' was surely causing problems within their relationship, but she was confident it was the right choice. What Marie failed to notice - and was only footsteps away from her - was the way May's head was settled into George's neck, the collar of his shirt soaked from her tears.