Isaac shook his head. "No, that's you."
Irene naturally denied it. "I'm a thug? Am I even capable of beating you up?"
"Hit me, then. I won't hit back." Isaac put her hand on his face then, but Irene was not about to actually hit him even if he was spoiling her so much now.
A man's face was his dignity, just as some jokes were permissible, while others were not.
And Irene certainly was a person with propriety.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she spoke tenderly into his ears. "You're my husband, my world. I'd never lay a finger on you."
Isaac kissed her so much that her lipstick smeared his lips. "You really know how to please me."
Irene wiped his mouth as she said, "I'm being serious."
That was when he suddenly bit her finger and she smacked him on the chest. "Ow!"
As they fooled around, Irene's clothes were more or less off, unable to hide her stunning figure.
Soon, the car stopped outside the castle and Isaac wrapped the blanket around her before carrying her out of the car.
Pierre was at the front door, waiting to receive them.
"Is dinner ready?" Isaac asked as he headed inside.
"Yes, Mr. Jefferson. You may dine at any moment."
"Good. Have someone bring a bucket of hot water to the bedroom."
"Very well, sir," Pierre replied and promptly gestured for someone to get to work.
By the time Isaac carried Irene to their room, the bucket of hot water was ready.
He sent the servant out while putting Irene on the bed and her feet in the bucket.
"I'll have someone bring some ointment."
"It's fine," Irene said from beneath her blanket. "The blister popped, so I'll be fine once the pus is squeezed out."
Isaac was still worried regardless. "Doesn't it hurt?"
"No." She shook her head—soaking her feet in hot water relieved her a little.
"Oh, right," she exclaimed, remembering the business card she received and passing it to him. "A woman gave that to me. There are no details so I don't know what her line of work is, and there's only that phone number and address."
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