Page 56 of Promise to Break

"It's because of the killer dick," Simona says in her low voice, evoking laughter from those close enough to hear. "I saw that thing, and it's huge." She's just one of my ex-bullies and could probably sing jazz with that timbre.

Emanuel huffs out a breath. "Well, your sexual activities shouldn't interfere with my class, no matter how impressive they are."

The whole class starts to cheer as if they're at a football game, and one of us just made a touchdown. Emanuel ignores them, preferring to embarrass me again instead.

"So tell me, what is the difference between limes and lemons?"

Who the fuck knows? "The taste?"

"Yes, that's part of it. As I said, the lime has its own mild flavor, but this is not what I'm talking about. What fruit can we use as a whole?"

"The lemon?"

"Miss Fernandez, I think you should show this class some respect. I don't care about your sex life."

I could beg to differ. We all know he's a fucking perve who checks out every student who catches his eye. I even caught him checking out Raven and me once.

Lord Emanuel scowls. "I'm sick and tired of your lack of talent. You, of all people, should know that with your credentials, you will end up in the streets again if you don't learn something. God only knows you should have been part of some street gang and not this distinguished establishment. So you should listen to every word I say. Do I make myself clear?"

I nod once because I refuse to give this asshole my voice, not when he speaks about me that way.

It's not the first time, and it won't be the last, I remind myself, trying to listen to him go on about the lemon tart. It doesn't look so hard to make, but I've learned that the simple things are those where one little fuck-up can ruin the whole cake.

I read the recipe a few times before I prepare the ingredients. The truth is that I love cooking and baking. I decided to make two of the same cake, one with the classic recipe and one adding mint. I know the flavors are completing each other, but no matter what Emanuel, the fuck lord, thinks, Raven, Julian and Serena will enjoy it.

It takes me forty-five minutes to make the cakes, and during the time we spend sitting and waiting for the ovens to do their job, Emanuel loves to tell us tales of his experiences in France and other places in Europe.

I found some articles about him and discovered he's actually telling the truth. I never understood how someone like him could leave the kitchen to teach. It's not like he likes to do so. Scandal or not.

"The Queen Tart sounds boring," Meredith complains. "It's nothing special like we learn to do here." She's one of the students who took this class because of her family dynamics. She hangs on every word that comes out of this man's mouth, and I can't blame her. Asshole aside, he is a good teacher.

"Well, the tart we made today was simple too," Emanuel says, "but remember, the simple things aren't to be overlooked. You can ruin a chocolate cake in a second, but you can save a complex delicacy with a few added ingredients." This is something we both agree on. It is much easier to work with a complex recipe with precise elements than with the do-it-from-your-heart stuff. My heart loves a lot of sugar, but the cakes don't agree.

Emanuel keeps going on and on about his tales with the Queen of England and how kind she was to him while she was alive. Several students pull their phones out, and I do as well, intending to play Candy Crush, only to see I've missed four messages.

Cabron: I miss your smell, and I wonder how it will be without the pool involved.

Cabron: I'm returning today. You can run all you want, but I'll catch you and make you suck my cock.

Cabron: It's your baking time. I'm on my way to you.

Cabron: The fucker loves himself too much.

I look up just to see Killian standing near the door. Liam and Kai are with him. The three deviants look fine as hell. All I see are their faces, calm, unhinged, and hungry, although Killian looks at me with a different kind of hunger. Fuck me.

Cabron: You look fine today. What are you making?

Me: What are you doing here?

Cabron: Chasing you. What do you think I'm doing?

Me: Leave.

Cabron: I don't want to leave. I told you, Little Girl, you are mine. You can tell yourself whatever you want, but you are mine.

I refuse to engage in this conversation. I truly prefer listening to Emanuel go on and on about how life was in England when the kings and queens ruled.

Cabron: You look cute with that thing on your head. Very bohemian.

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