I Married the President-Chapter 117: This is too perverted

Adrian Quincy calmly explained, "The top qipao master, Whitney Hartwell, is also the leading figure in preserving qipao culture. Her students are all over the world, but no one has ever surpassed her."

Whitney Hartwell...

’So she’s the legendary qipao master, Whitney Hartwell!’

There have been countless special reports and documentaries about her on TV, but she herself never makes public appearances. What’s more, her husband was the director of the Friendship Embassy, but he was killed in an explosion.

After that, Whitney Hartwell disappeared from public view.

’No wonder she has such a mysterious and poignant air about her. It must be so sad to lose the one you love.’

Claire sighed with emotion but couldn’t help asking, "Having Mrs. Hartwell make qipaos for me... won’t that be very expensive? And you asked her to make three sets."

’Why so many...’

Adrian Quincy said in a deep voice, "Mrs. Hartwell isn’t charging me. The three sets will be useful later."

Although he answered her question, Claire didn’t get the answer she was looking for.

She wanted to ask more, but she was afraid of annoying him, so she held her tongue.

When they got home, the two of them unloaded the things from the trunk together.

Claire tossed all the machine-washable clothes into the laundry machine, then took the hand-wash-only items to the bathroom to wash them herself.

It was the weekend, and for once, Adrian Quincy didn’t have to go to work. He stayed home and didn’t go anywhere, but he just holed up in his study, reading.

Claire cleaned the house and then took an afternoon nap.

When she woke up, she saw the back of Adrian Quincy on her room’s balcony, which gave her quite a shock.

Claire leaped out of bed and walked up behind the man. "Mr. Quincy, what are you doing here?"

Adrian Quincy turned to look at her. "A piece of clothing fell into the yard. I hung it back up for you."

Hearing this, Claire subconsciously looked up at the clothes hanging on the rack.

If she remembered correctly, the only thing out of place seemed to be that set of sheer, black "Night Enchantress" lingerie. ’Don’t tell me that’s what fell down and he’s the one who picked it up?’

’So awkward...’

"Next time, I’ll use clips to secure it more tightly!"

"You could buy a special rack for drying underwear and socks."

"Okay!" Claire nodded emphatically.

Adrian Quincy walked over to her and whispered in her ear, "Wear it for me tonight."

After saying that, he straightened up and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Claire stood frozen in place. ’Did I hear him right?’

...

Claire agonized for ages over his words—whether they were intentional or not. It wasn’t until after dusk, when she’d finished dinner and it was finally time for her shower, that she still hadn’t come to a decision.

’Should I really wear that lingerie for him tonight?’

’What if he was just joking? Wouldn’t that be mortifying?’

’But even if he really does want to see it, I don’t have to wear it for him. That’s too perverted!’

As she mulled it over, her hand had already unconsciously picked up the set of lingerie, and she walked into the bathroom...

Another half an hour passed, and Claire came out wearing her pajamas.

She hesitated for a moment, then left her room, went to the door of the study next door, and knocked.

"Mr. Quincy, are you in there?"

"Come in."

Given permission, Claire immediately pushed the door open and went inside.

’He’s still reading...’

"Um, you should get to bed soon. I’m going to sleep now."

"Together?"

A chill went down Claire’s spine, and she bolted in fear.

Adrian Quincy frowned slightly. ’Why did she run off so fast?’

He put down the book in his hands, rose gracefully, and walked to the door of the bedroom next door.

The door was ajar, so he pushed it open and went straight in.

He saw Claire completely buried under the covers, her head not even visible, with only a lock of black hair showing.