Heiress in Distress

•Chapter 3•

•Word Count: 1,650

-Present Day-

Whatever normal people think about the second they wake up in the morning is definitely not the things going through my mind right now, if thinking is what people do first thing in the morning, that is.

Windows, for instance, are made to renew the room's atmosphere, air-wise, but in this moment, I don't appreciate their presence as I squint against the unwelcome rays of sunshine sneaking through the small crack between the curtains.

Or maybe it's just the curtains?

Groggily, I reach for the blaring alarm on the nightstand, slapping its crown to silence its galling uproar. Although its sound is not the typical alarm bell, for it would be frightening for a 5 month old, but a simple piece of music meant to put me in a good mood to kick off another stressful day. It's the loud volume that jolts me out of sleep.

I drape my forearm over my eyes to shield them from the day shine, in an attempt to get back to sleep.

Then again, it seems Élise has different plans as she continues to play with her hands and feet -even mouthing her biggest toe at some point- all while babbling merrily.

Unlike me, she's always been a morning person, introducing our mornings with her energetic bodily movements and incoherent babbles.

She's still unaware of my watchfulness until I tug at her foot; baffled, she jerkily turns her head right and left in search for the source of the offence, but when her eyes fall in my direction, I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

Maintaining my pretence until I feel she's preoccupied once again, I repeat the trick, almost laughing at her obliviousness as she twirls her head around once more.

I sense, rather than see, the confusion she's feeling, and I have to purse my lips to keep from roaring the laugh that's suspended in my throat.

No later than a few minutes, the surface of the bed begins to ruffle, denoting her determined crawling towards me; I remain unmoving even when she climbs my torso and continues toward my face.
A drop of drool on my right cheek is what gives away my cover and I'm howling with laughter, and once she recovers from her bewilderment, she joins me as well.

"Aren't we the most vivacious ?" I coo, nuzzling her neck. She responds with a flamboyant jerk and a delighted squeal.

"As much as I'd love to stay longer to play, I have to get to work"
There's a precious pout to her mouth when I say this, which is meant to be more of a reminder to myself than a declaration to a baby, as though her undeveloped brain might comprehend the words.

•••

From the periphery of my vision I notice the uncanny streaming in of a group of men, all dressed in black tuxedoes.
The misplaced extravagancy underlying their choice of attire to come to a café makes me want to do both, laugh and hide in the back room.

Laugh at their lacking in the style department, and hide in the back room from the possible hierarchy these men's turnouts imply.

By the looks of it, I'm not the only one affected by their presence, despite my refusal to look in their direction, even though everyone is doing just the opposite -openly staring.
The man holding his cup out for me to refill now is looking on with disturbance written all over his face.

Mastering the societal etiquette, which features keeping your eyes to yourself and minding your own business at the top of its list, is a stipulation of serving in high-class cafés here in France.