Was it All an Accident? (A Harry Styles Fan Fiction, Book Three)

Part Twenty-Seven: I Feel Nothing.

(Whytnie’s POV)

My “problem” only lasts for three days on a good month. Well, this month was one of them. On the fourth day, I took a shower and finally felt refreshed for the first time on this “mini-vacation”. Harry calls it our honeymoon, but we haven’t done much but lay around and eat. Well, he’s waiting for me to start acting like a rational human being before we tour the city. I’m glad because I’d hate to fight off random strangers for just passing by me on the streets because my anger management is out of control.

            Speaking of anger management, my father left a voicemail earlier telling me to call him back to check in with him. Now was a good a time as any. Harry was still asleep, snuggling close to a pillow he probably stupidly mistaken as me. Or else he just really liked that pillow. I can’t be too sure though.

            I don’t dwell on the idea, instead I call my father. He’s probably asleep considering the huge time difference. But he’s not. Of course not. Unless he was waiting up by the phone for my call, that could be the case. He’s over-protective like that.

            “Whytnie!? Why haven’t you been answering your phone!? I was so worried about you! And when you didn’t answer your phone…” He left his sentence unsaid, but I can only imagine all the different scenarios he had implied or thought of. I don’t get a chance to respond though. “How are you? Are you okay? Do you want me to come get you?” What? Like I’m three years old? No thanks. Wait… What exactly was he implying here?

            “No, dad,” I say instead. “I’m just making breakfast right now.”

            “Okay. You’re not in immediate danger, right? You’d tell me if some creepy guy was holding a gun to your head, right?”

            Groaning, I roll my eyes as I make my way to the kitchen area. “Yeah, dad. I’d tell you. And then I’d get shot for telling you.” The pots bang loudly as I pull them out of the cupboards. I freeze, hoping it doesn’t wake up the sleeping man in my bed. “Dad, I’m fine! I’ll be home soon and everything will be okay. I promise.”

            “Any grandkids I should know about?” I choked on my own saliva. This is such a great conversation I’m having this early in the morning. “Should I be expecting any anytime soon?”

            “Dad!” I gurgle out, trying to soothe my throat with some tap water but I end up spitting it out anyway.

            “What? That’s a reasonable question! You’re my little girl, and I don’t appreciate guys taking advantage of you!”

            “Dad! I’m married!”

            “So? That doesn’t mean anything! I just don’t want you to do something you’re not ready for, that’s all. You won’t, right?”

            “Of course, dad.” I roll my eyes.

            “I can see you rolling your eyes through the phone!” Man, he’s good. This is probably why I’m so straight-forward and blunt about most things. My dad’s good at calling out lies, until it comes to his wife. He either knows she’s deceptive and has let it slide or he just doesn’t know her favorite hobby besides shopping is lying (or manipulating, both are her most valuable qualities).

            “Dad! I’m fine! I’m not getting pressured by my own husband, I can assure you.” Another eye roll, and I start warming up the pan for some bacon. Standing on my tippy toes, I get a bowl out of one of the cupboards to make French toast.