Un-Tying the Knot {h.s.}

Chapter 63

"Baby, I just can't tell you how happy I am to have you home," Anne says, practically beaming as she sets a steaming plate of scrambled eggs in front of her son.

Harry looks up at her, giving her a smile that can only best be described as weak before picking up his fork slowly, nudging at his food. This was a bad idea. How could he have possibly thought that flying home two weeks before the wedding would be a good idea? He must have lost his mind. Sane people don't roll out of their beds at two o'clock in the morning after having the worst sex of their life, pack as quietly as possible so as not to wake their sleeping fiancé and take a redeye to their hometown. He needs to get more sleep, that's all he needs. He'd think more clearly if he could just fucking sleep.

"Are you sure you don't want pancakes, too? Or toast?" Anne presses, sitting next to him at the table. Harry hears the rustle of his father's newspaper trying to mask him as he clears his throat, and Anne sits straighter.

"I'm fine, Mom," Harry says, taking a bite of his eggs, burning his mouth slightly, but he swallows anyway.

"It wouldn't be any trouble-"

"I can't eat pancakes," he says dully, reaching for the salt and shaking some onto his eggs, even though he doesn't really care how they taste. "I'll throw off my training."

"Well," Anne says, placing a hand on his arm, glancing from him to his father, and then whispering. "I think you'll be fine. One stack of pancakes can't hurt."

"Really," Harry insists, forcing another smile as he shovels eggs into his mouth. "I'm fine."

He's chewing slowly, nudging the remainder of his food around on his plate so he misses the look that Anne shoots at Robin, who is regarding him curiously around the side of his newspaper. They are both wondering what their son is doing in their house at nine a.m. on a Thursday, looking haggard and worn, lines drawn deeply into his handsome face. Anne pulls her eyes from her husband's to regard Harry, reaching up to run her hand through the short tendrils of his hair, trying to curl even though it's still a little too short.

"I know your grandparents will be happy to see you," Anne says, her voice a little strained as she studies him carefully. "Although you came when it was just about time to cut the grass."

Harry groans, letting his head fall back, and Anne smiles. He'd made that deal with his grandmother nearly three years ago, a few of her recipes in exchange for him cutting the grass when he was home to do it. He'd managed to avoid it for the most part, coming in winter or early spring — but it seems now he would have to make good on his promise.

"You must be really busy with the wedding," his mother says, forcing a smile into her voice, and she thinks she sees him cringe. "It's nice you found the time to come home."

"I always make time for you, Mum," he says, forking more food into his mouth. Anne smiles, even though he's placating her, years of watching him schmooze on interviews having trained him well.

But she's his mother, and all the media training in the world couldn't keep the truth from her.

"Is...is everything alright?" she asks him softly, and he nods, still shoving more food in his mouth. "Did something happen with..." she pauses chancing a look at Robin, whose brow furrows in displeasure. "the wedding."

"No," Harry says simply, picking up a piece of bacon and biting into it. "Everything's fine. Operation wedding has gone into hyperdrive." He chuckles quickly before clearing his throat to mask the hollowness of the sound.

"You just..." Anne starts, looking at him with drawn brows and pursed lips. She sighs folding her arms on the table. "You just seem really sad."

Harry laughs, looking at his mother and shaking his head, looking down quickly because he can't stand the worry in her eyes. "You sound just like Eleanor."