Harry Hunter also laughed and continued to ask her: "Do you like Alexander Parker?"
Isabella Weaver shook her head vigorously: "No, I don’t like him! My cousin... my cousin is a cannibal! Boo hoo, my cousin likes to eat my fingers..."
Harry Hunter couldn’t laugh anymore; he looked down at Isabella Weaver’s slender hand resting on his chest, feeling frustrated.
Just how many tis had Alexander bitten her for her to rember even when she’s drunk!
Harry Hunter took a deep breath, deciding not to torture himself anymore. Asking questions about Alexander Parker was like pouring salt on his own wounds.
He would ask about happier things.
"Isabella, do you like ?"
"Like!"
Isabella Weaver responded to him imdiately, and after a mont, she muttered drowsily: "Huh, why does this question seem so familiar?"
"Then I’ll change the question. Isabella, do you love ?"
"Love you!"
"Hmm, say you love Harry Hunter."
"You love Harry Hunter!"
The four people following behind couldn’t help but burst out laughing.
The young master was teaching the young madam to confess, but it turned out the drunken young madam’s mind wasn’t turning.
Harry Hunter heard the laughter and turned back to glare at them. He continued to teach Isabella Weaver: "Isabella, say ’I love Harry Hunter.’
"I love Harry Hunter!"
"Hmm, I love you too, Isabella."
Isabella Weaver repeated drowsily after him: "I love you too, Isabella..."
Again, there was a suppressed burst of laughter from the back.
Harry Hunter was resigned, abandoning the idea of making Isabella Weaver confess, and spoke softly to her, hoping to sober her up.
But after five minutes, the person on his back had fallen asleep.
Luckily, the bar wasn’t far from the hotel, so he decided to carry her directly back to the hotel.
The young wife with rosy cheeks looked stunningly beautiful. Harry Hunter kissed her, undressed her, wiped her down with a wet towel until she was clean, changed her into clean pajamas, and then went to the bathroom to freshen up himself.
After washing off the sll of alcohol, Harry Hunter changed into pajamas and got into bed. Just as he lay down, Isabella Weaver instinctively snuggled over to hug him.
Harry Hunter felt a sense of pride; his young wife really liked him, couldn’t be away from him even for a mont!
But his sense of pride didn’t last long before the young wife pushed him away a few minutes later—she felt hot.
Harry Hunter secretly lowered the air conditioning temperature, and soon enough, Isabella Weaver snuggled back into his arms.
He closed his eyes contentedly, holding her as he fell asleep.
The next day, Isabella Weaver woke up with a splitting headache and glanced at the ti, finding it was already past ten o’clock.
Harry Hunter wasn’t there, but he left her a note reminding her to drink more water and have breakfast.
It took Isabella Weaver a while to sit up, and Harry Hunter had thoughtfully placed water at her bedside. She drank a whole glass before feeling a bit more comfortable.
Thinking about last night, Isabella Weaver couldn’t help but smile wryly.
She drank so much that she blacked out.
She didn’t even rember how she got back.
Hopefully, she didn’t act crazy last night?
Her drinking manners should still be good enough not to make a fool of herself.
As for breakfast... having lunch might be more appropriate.
Her body felt clean, and she had changed into pajamas, clearly the work of Harry Hunter.
Isabella Weaver chuckled softly, stepped into the bathroom for a shower.
By the ti she was all set and walked out the room, it was already eleven o’clock.
Grace Watt had received her ssage and was waiting outside the door. Seeing her co out, she smiled: "Good morning, Young Madam!"
Isabella Weaver shook her head with a smile: "Oh Grace, you’ve learned to tease now. What’s morning? It’s already noon!"
"Young Master said that no matter what ti you get up, it’s morning! It’s not your fault; it’s the sun’s fault for rising too early!"
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