Family: Out of Business

Moped

Claire's pov

The next few days inched by painfully, slowly. My head was in a fog, my mind in a daze over my aunt abandoning me to travel with her stupid boyfriend. My uncle and dad were all over my ass about everything, nothing, and anything. I swear they were just looking for an excuse to start arguments with me or punish me. I didn't give them the satisfaction though, as I haven't had the energy to fight. I tried to keep my mouth shut whenever possible and when it wasn't and they required an answer from me, they only got one or two words.

Yesterday my father finally had enough of my belligerence. I believe that's the word he used when he took my phone and laptop away. I'm so bored and depressed right now, I think I'm gonna lose it. I decided to go downstairs and see if Cook could make me a late breakfast. A huge plate of his mouth-watering banana pancakes sounds like heaven right now. I'm not above drowning my troubles in syrup and eating my sorrow away. Cook was more than happy to oblige me so I sat down in the dining room to wait.

Thankfully the dining room was empty and the house was quiet, except for the servants usual daily activities. Alfred came in about five minutes after I sat down.

"Good morning, Miss," he greeted me politely as usual.

"It's morning," I grumbled, "but I don't know what's so good about it."

Alfred gave me a slight sad smile, taking pity on me presumably as I'm sure he hasn't failed to notice the funk I've been in these past few days.

"Your father requested I give you this, Miss," he said, handing me a folded note.

"Thank you, Al... Lorenzo," I said, catching myself from calling him Alfred at the last second.

"Of course, Miss," he replied, smirking at my near slip-up. "Cook has informed me your breakfast will be up shortly."

I nodded, so he left. I unfolded the note and began to decipher my father's cryptic cursive handwriting. Why can't he just print like a normal person? What is it with old people and their obsession to write notes in cursive anyway? I squinted my eyes and read and reread it about a dozen times, writing what I could translate as I went along, before I finally figured out each of the sentences he wrote:

Mia figlia (my daughter),

It is my sincere hope that you have awoken this morning with a renewed attitude and spirit. If not, and you require a reminder on how to speak and act respectfully and politely, I will be more than happy to provide that lesson over my knee when I return home. Hopefully, that won't be necessary.

Your uncle and I have a lot of business to attend to so we won't be home until late. Lorenzo is in charge of your care today and you will be cordial and obedient because if I hear otherwise, you can expect a session with my belt before bed.

To keep you occupied, I've compiled a list of chores I expect you to have completed by the time I return home:

1. Clean your room, top to bottom- dust, vacuum, make your bed, put your clean clothes away, do your laundry and clean your windows.

2. Do the same in my room and your uncle's minus the clothes and laundry.

3. Sweep and vacuum the first floor.

4. Hand wash, dry, and put away all the dishes from last night's dinner service (Yes, I had the staff save them for you).

5. Polish all the silver (Lorenzo will provide instruction).

I love you, sweetpea, and I will see you tonight,

Dad

Ugghh, I thought to myself as I tossed the letter aside. What a waste of a Saturday. Thankfully, one of the servants walked in with my breakfast before I could feel sorry for myself any further. After finishing every bite of my most awesome pancakes, I was feeling a tad more optimistic about my day. I think I'll start with the last chore on the list, polishing the silver, so I can spend some time with Alfred. I swear he's the only one in this house who doesn't treat me like a stupid little kid all the time.