Flour dusted the air like pale smoke as Ian Saint Varquees slammed the metal bowl onto the counter.
"I said I want to learn properly."
He muttered, rolling up the sleeves of his expensive academy blazer.
"Not just stand here and watch."
Across from him, Penelope Renee did not flinch.
She stood in her usual soft-colored cardigan, pale hair tied back loosely, small hearing aids tucked neatly behind her ears.
Her hands moved with quiet certainty as she measured sugar into a scale, tapping the bowl gently until the numbers aligned.
Ian clicked his tongue.
The kitchen room reserved for extracurricular activities wasn't large, but it was clean.
Sunlight filtered in through tall windows, catching in Penelope's hair.
She didn't look at him when he spoke.
That irritated him more than it should have.
Ian Saint Varquees — heir to the Saint Varquees estate, known campus delinquent, rumored to have broken a senior's nose in his first year ... was not used to being ignored.
