Our Accidental Forever
Chapter 101: Forgot How to Function

Chapter 101: Forgot How to Function

As Kate scrubbed, her mind churned. She thought of calling Ella, of telling her about Joanne’s sudden enthusiasm for a baby shower.

But as her hand paused mid-wipe, Kate let out another sigh. She hated Joanne, sure, but she couldn’t ruin this for Ella. For all her faults, Joanne had stumbled onto a good idea. Ella deserved something special, and Kate wouldn’t let her personal feelings get in the way of that.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath. "I’ll let this play out. But I’m watching you, Joanne. Closely."

---

Joanne’s POV:

Pulling into the driveway, my heart sank the moment I saw the sleek black Mercedes parked outside. I froze, gripping the steering wheel tightly, before muttering, "You’ve got to be kidding me."

It was my parents’ car.

Didn’t they say they’d be back in a week? I groaned, grabbing my phone from the passenger seat.

A slew of missed calls and texts from my brother, Grant, flashed across the screen. I scrolled back through my messages and realized, to my horror, today was exactly one week since he’d called to remind me about their return.

A string of curses left my lips as I leaned back in the seat, trying to think of an excuse. How could I forget? Oh, right, because I’d been so consumed with my plans for Ella that everything else had fallen out of my mind, including picking my family up from the airport.

Another groan escaped me as I stepped out of the car, my heels clicking against the pavement as I made my way to the front door. There was no escaping this.

My heels clicked against the marble steps, each step echoing my ddread

The moment I stepped inside, the familiar sight of our sitting room greeted me. The room was a blend of timeless elegance and undeniable wealth.

The walls were painted a soft ivory, adorned with gold-accented mirrors and framed oil paintings of scenic landscapes.

A crystal chandelier hung from the high ceiling, casting a warm glow over the plush beige sofas arranged in a perfect semi-circle around the glass coffee table.

On one of those sofas sat my father, his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, flipping through a newspaper like he was trying to solve the world’s problems.

Grant, my older brother, lounged on the opposite end, one arm draped over the backrest, the other casually holding his phone. His tie was loose around his neck, and his legs were crossed with the kind of practiced ease that came from years of smug confidence.

Both of them turned their heads in unison as I walked in. The frowns they gave me could’ve cut glass.

"Uh... hi," I began awkwardly, clutching my bag to my side. "I’m so..."

"You could have told us you wouldn’t make it," Tristan cut me off, sitting up straighter. "We waited at the airport for two hours, Joanne. Two hours."

I winced. "I..."

My father lowered the newspaper, his piercing gaze locking onto me. "Princess, this is unlike you." His tone firm but not unkind. "What happened?"

I swallowed hard, forcing a sheepish smile. "Something urgent came up, and it just... slipped my mind. I’m so sorry, really."

Before either of them could respond, the sound of heels clicking against the marble staircase interrupted us. My mother appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in an elegant cream robe, her hair still perfectly styled despite the long flight.

"Is she back?" she asked, her voice warm but tinged with curiosity as she descended the stairs.

"Yes, Mama, I’m here," I said, turning to her with an apologetic look. "I’m so sorry I didn’t come to pick you up. I... "

Before I could finish, the sound of footsteps descending the grand staircase interrupted me.

She waved off my apology with a graceful flick of her wrist. "It’s okay, Princess. We’re just happy to be home."

"It’s not okay," Grant cut in, leaning forward with a mock-stern expression. "She needs to be spanked for this level of irresponsibility."

"Big brother!" I exclaimed, glaring at him as he smirked.

"I mean it," he continued, leaning back against the sofa with mock seriousness. "If none of you have the heart to do it, I’ll volunteer."

"Oh, please," I shot back, rolling my eyes.

"Grant," my mother said, her tone half-scolding, half-amused.

"What?" he said, raising his hands innocently. "She left us stranded at the airport! I’m just saying actions have consequences."

"Do you ever stop talking?" I snapped, crossing my arms.

"Not when I’m right," he replied smugly, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

"You’re impossible," I muttered, walking over to my father for backup. "Dad?"

He glanced up from his paper, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Well, Princess, your brother does have a point.

You’ve been getting away with far too much lately, Princess."

I gasped, placing a hand over my heart in mock offense. "Not you too!

Mom! I’ve being ganged up on," I declared, throwing my hands in the air.

My mother chuckled as she settled into the armchair next to my father. "Ignore them, darling. We’re just glad to be home. But next time, set a reminder, hmm?"

"Yes, Mama," I said, my tone meek as I finally dropped onto the sofa beside Grant.

He nudged me with his shoulder, his teasing smirk still firmly in place. "Do you have any idea how many people stared at us while we waited like abandoned puppies at the arrivals terminal?"

"It couldn’t have been that bad," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, it was," he replied dramatically. "A little boy even asked if we needed help finding our parents."

That did it. My mother and I burst into laughter, while my father shook his head, a small smile breaking through his otherwise stern exterior.

"Well, I’m here now," giving him a playful nudge on the shoulder, as well. "So you can stop whining."

He caught my wrist and smirked up at me. "Just admit it, you missed us so much you forgot how to function."

"You’re delusional," I shot back, though I couldn’t help but smile despite myself.

"Keep telling yourself that," he replied, grabbing the TV remote and flicking it on. "By the way, you owe us dinner. And no, it’s not up for debate."

I groaned, leaning back against the sofa. "Fine. But you’re paying for dessert."

Grant smirked. "Deal."

"Make sure it’s something good," my father added.

"Of course, Dad. Nothing but the best for my very forgiving family," I replied, finally relaxing as the tension dissipated into lighthearted teasing.