Harry Styles Strawberries Novels & Stories

In the two days that followed, Travis Blake didn’t come back to the Harvey mansion. Just as Hailey began to enjoy the rare peace, her phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognize. “Hello?” “Hi, is this Miss Hailey Stewart? I’m a stylist working with several high-end fashion houses. I’d like to schedule a fitting with you this week.” Hailey frowned. “A fitting? For what?” The woman on the other end started listing luxury brands, Valentino, Givenchy, Elie Saab... Hailey blinked. These aren’t just designer brands, they’re top-tier. She instinctively looked down at her homemade t-shirt. It had a tiny bleach stain near the hem.

he tried to play along with the situation but failed to hide his nervousness as he pushed his glasses up with his index finger. "You're not here to serve me that way, Harry. A submissive is not an employee," she replied, rummaging in the fridge. "For that, I have a great chef." "But... I... I'd be happy to make something. I make a great pancake with cream and red berries," he assured, seeing that she had taken out a dish with strawberries, blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries from the fridge. "It's okay, Harry. Seriously! You don't need to. It's late, and just some fruit is more than enough."

I turn on the water tap of the sink and begin to wash them. Done, I head over to where the blending machine is. I pour in all the strawberries into the big glass jar. I reach for the kitchen cupboard and open it to bring out a can of vanilla yoghurt, milk and a bottle of honey to add to the strawberries inside the blending jar. After adding everything in their right quantities, I switch on the power button of the blending machine and watch as the whole mixture turns into a smooth light pink puree. I glance over at Sarah, who is now washing her hands at the sink. She is done with preparing the scrambled eggs, mashed sardines and bread toast. I watch her heave out a sigh. She looks. . . . .glo

I put my lips to the side. "It depends on who he is. "Harry Styles," said Charlie, still looking up. "He demanded that if it was a welcome party, it should have three different styles, but he is better than me when it comes to Abby. I swear, for the first time in years organizing parties, I'm lost.

If not, she would be scheduled for a cesarean section. “She’s not strong enough to come,” I replied. Just then, a hand tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see Harry standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers. A touch of red on the enormous blonde petals caught my eye, and it sent a warm feeling through my heart. My gaze fixed on the bouquet. “Congratulations,” he greeted, handing the flowers to me. I hesitated briefly before accepting them. The familiar scent of strawberries hit my nostrils, sending a pleasant pang through my soul. My eyes closed momentarily as I inhaled deeply, savoring the fragrance.

He looked up at me, his lips curved in a full smile. "Good night, love." I kissed his cheeks and tucked his hair back from his forehead. He closed his eyes. I thought to give him a call again but I dropped it immediately. I selected a purple top and blue jeans. I put the basket on the counter. I had packed their favourite apple pies, cake and fruits, water and juice bottles. It was the weekend. Usually, Harry and Scarlett invite us to their house to spend the weekend. They were in Paris attending Harry's friend's daughter's wedding.

“And I want my strawberries arranged in the shape of a dollar sign.” I grinned. That’s my girl. Ariella Rose Declan. Eight years old. Multilingual, wildly fashionable, frighteningly brilliant and currently the youngest billionaire in the world, thanks to the 38% shares Harry signed to her name when she turned six. Forbes called her “the storm in a tutu.” We just called her ours. “She’s terrifying,” Harry murmured behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. He was shirtless, freshly showered, still the Greek god I’d fallen in love with. “And I love it.”

Harold hummed in response and then it clicked in his mind,"Wanna join me in the practice match, today?" "Oh no, no, I don't play football." She quickly replied, knitting her brows in nervousness. "Oh god, this girl!" Harold mumbled to herself and then explained, "Who's asking you to play, darling?" "Huh?" The curly haired still didn't understand the proposal. "All you have to do is cheer my name and be hot while holding a towel and a water bottle for me." He chuckled before taking the last bite of his salad. "Actually, I would rather be Harry Styles's whore than be your bleacher." Gracie added jokingly.

The wardrobe door opened and Harley came in wearing a kind of ripped white tank top with pink tartan skirt, with dangly pink earrings, a few flower hair clips and lipgloss, she looked ready for the party with strap white sandals. "Ready to go?". She asked. I nodded. "Sure". "Wait, let me style your hair". She had me sit and then she styled my hair amazingly making me look unrecognizable in the mirror. She had put a little make-up on my face too. After a while, we were done and we went downstairs. I walked carefully on my stilettos so I won't fall down on the marble tiled stairs. "And Voilà". She said dramatically as we got down.

And I will tell you now, that it feels like we’re riding on air. The car smells so good. I’m tempted to ask him how is that even possible or what does he use. Sterling is a moderate, aka slow driver. I drives faster than me, but still slow compared to other people. “Watermelon sugar, high!” Sterling sings the song of one of favorite artist out. Harry Styles. I expected this. I expected Sterling to sing every song that would have played on the radio. Wesley and I keep sharing looks and I can tell Wesley isn’t used to people singling every song playing on the radio.