Neva woke up with little wet kisses all over her face.
As she slowly agaped her eyes, Ishmael's handsome, smiling visage divulged in her sight. She smiled back at him.
"Good morning love." Ishmael murmuring, pecked her lips.
"Good morning." She whispered.
Dazed and still sleepy.
Ishmael then fully shifted to hover over her. He dived in for another deep kiss.
The kiss flowing passionate, and achingly desperate he held her waist.
The other hand flattened on her back, he lifted her, embracing—closening Neva to him.
She circled her arms around his neck, fingering his smooth thick hair that waved down his nap.
"I'm sorry for yesterday." Ishmael attached their foreheads.
Neva just smiled airily, caressing his face.
"I prepared your favourite breakfast." Ishmael grasped her hand placed on his cheek near his lips and planted a kiss.
"And bought you your favourite flowers." His eyes gestured for her to follow his trail.
Neva gasped softly.
The master bedroom overflowed with bouquet of flowers, nicely arranged of one colours or alloyed of roses, baby–breaths, dahlias, hydrangea, cornflowers, iris, daisies, peonies and more of those name she doesn't recall or are blended and overshadowed by many... many roses.
"You shouldn't have." Neva mumbled and threaded their eyes.
Ishmael smiled.
"Thank you." She closed her eyes and breathed in with a smile the fresh and sweet, musky, fruity aroma of flowers.
This room almost felt like a garden.
"My pleasure." Ishmael leaned and kissed her lips.
Slow and deep, craving and torturous, he needed her, the desire never availed.
Always ignited, burning brightly for her, and only her.
His calloused palm ran up the bare thighs, raising along the silky deep–red nightdress.
But before she would be swayed by the vulnerability of his resolve early in the morning, she smoothened her palm on his hard sinewy chest and pushed him.
"The twins," she began, short of breath. "Could be here any moment."
She could speculate the time by the chirping birds, the brightness of the early day through the white curtains in the windows. Eight in the morning, around time the children wake up and look for them.
"I need to shower."
He gave her an agonizingly look. She chuckled and patted his cheek.
But when she made to move him off her, he gripped her wrist.
"I got you something else." He said and hoisted himself up.
He reached for the square, flat, blue velvet box placed on the nightstand.
She looked at him with a frown.
Smiling he sat up on the bed, pulling her up with him.
He opened the box, and out revealed a sparkling 80 Carat vintage diamond necklace. It was a set with a pair of teardrop and leaves vined earrings.
"Is it to your liking?" Ishmael asked, anticipation in his tone.
She shook her head.
He frowned. "I'll call home for more options. You can choose whatever fits your taste."
Neva sighed at his alarmed self.
"You can have the store if you want. Whatever you wish." He affirmed and closed the box.
And before he could grab the cell–phone from the nightstand, Neva cupped his face and linked their eyes.
He looked at her with confusion.
"It's not that I don't like it Ishmael." Neva said and paused for a moment.
"I know these gifts speak of your guilt." She removed her hands off his face and waded her gaze through the flower humbled room.
She then turned to him.
"I understand where you come from. And I accept it. But I don't need any of them."
The eyes he gave her was soft.
And something other; almost indescribable.
She took the jewellery box from him and unveiled the lid.
"It's beautiful." She murmered, fingertips tracing over the interlaced stones.
"But I can't keep it.
I have many already. You don't have to feel too bad about yesterday." She waved a hand in the air with a gesture—convincing him of it as not a significant matter.
"My mind just wanders off strangely anyway." Neva chuckled, closing the box.
At once Ishmael grabbed her nap and crashed their lips. It was a kiss flavoured with apologies, ardor and devotion.
"In truth that your presence gives me life, nothing in the world I can give you will ever be enough.
But don't assume these are just token of regrets. You're mywife.
Everything I own is yours, please don't feel compelled to deny them." He attached their foreheads.
"These are shallow compared to the lengths I'm willing to go for you."
Neva chuckled heartily.
"Am I so rich? So rich to have such loving husband." She pecked his lips.
Ishmael smiled.
The brims of his eyes crinkled. "I love you."
"I love you too."
She smiled, encircling her arms around his neck.
And he couldn't help himself, help this consuming, intense love that he enfolded her jaw and kissed her artlessly.
---
The swirling day was a sweet, warm reverie afternoon.
Something in the breeze, the leaves, petals of the flowers swaying in the garden, blooming in the backyard of the mansion airbrushed euphoria this beautiful day.
The birds chirping, the bees buzzing, the butterflies dancing, and the chorus of the children playing with their father stirring her heart.
Neva smiled, peering at the beautiful family she was blessed with. Her husband and a reluctant son playing kitchen with her daughter.
The pale pink, grand walk-in kitchen acquired most of the spaced anterior, resting area of the backyard. Inaya's fever had almost disappeared. She still had slight cold, but she was as energetic as ever.
It made her laugh, Ishmael's big frame spilling, seated on Inaya's tiny pink and white chair, bunny ears for backrest.
It was good that it didn't have armrests.
It was a wonder, the chair could still hold on to his weight.
While, on the other hand, a grumpy Isaiah forced upon this humiliating scene sat there arms crossed beside his father, glaring at Inaya as she happily strolled out of her kitchen, dancing on her steps, wearing an apron and a tray of her artificial food in her hands.
She first placed dinner for her father on the tiny table, lots of meat and vegetables in his plate. To which, Ishmael delightedly thanked her, taking the plastic fork, he sticked a meat and faked a bite. He chewed with eyes closed, swimming in the flavours.
And when Inaya asked him with anticipation of how it tasted, he gave her a big smile and said it was the most delicious food he ever had.
She giggled and squealed, jumping in her father's embrace for a hug. When Neva trailed her son, she found him pouting, shortly complaining being forced at this, wanting to play his own boy games in his personal play room.
Inaya scolded him for not touching his food, hands on her hips. They loved each other, but would continuously stumble upon argument and fights.
And before Inaya could pull her brother's hair, and Isaiah kick her, with Inaya mirroring his moves and it could end with both of them bruising and crying Ishmael pryed them apart and reassured peace among them.
Neva sighed, living them with tenderness, while she's slightly away in the corner, with an open book in her hold, resting on a soft cushioned swing, hanging from a strong branch of a shadowy oak tree with leaves in shades of yellow, orange, and red. Bushes, vines of roses weaved through behind, and on both sides of the swing. This place that she prefers best was oozing around with blooming flowers and their succulent smell.
"Mumma!" Suddenly Inaya waved at her, drawing Ishmael's and Isaiah's gaze on her.
Neva waved back at her, reflecting back a smile at her boys.
Just then, the butler, Mr. Frisk, walked towards Ishmael, and behind him was Manager Cha.
Mr. Frisk momentarily excused himself, having led Mr. Cha here.
Mr. Cha asked of him to discuss the issues in private. Ishmael stood up, and apologized to Inaya with a pat on her head. Then Ishmael turned to glance at Neva.
She tilted her head at his incredulous stare, his body rigid and tensed.
Offering her a thin smile, he walked away with Manager Cha following behind.
And the children shortly, without their father binding them to co–operate with each other started chasing around, slowly disappearing from her sight.
Neva sighed, bearing her consciousness back at the short novel, White Nights by Fyodor Dostoevsky.
Just as, another ponderous minutes past, and Neva flipped the page of the last chapter, she heard heavy footsteps on the trimmed grassy ground of the garden, nearing.
And when she looked up at him, a soft gasp escaped her.
All the air in her lungs burning.
For a man stood there before her, a tall handsome man clad in a black suit paralleling Ishmael's guards uniform.
Nicely trimmed jet black hair, cocoa eyes softening, burning, tearing and glittering.
His thin lips, trembling.
He slowly neared, their gaze safely entangled. Then his knees buckled, and he fell on his knees so close to her.
Tears streamed down his eyes.
And there she found an agonizing pain in her heart for his unknown sorrow.
She reached a hand to caress his cheek, and a piercing sob broke out his lips.
He veiled her palm with his big cold hands.
And she didn't mind as he leaned into her palm, searching for some warmth.
And she didn't mind when his tears pooled an ocean, soaking her hand.
For this man; who shared a resembling visage with her husband; she couldn't resist this insurmountable urge to comfort him. Protect him.
"Angel." He whispered.
A light flickered in her eyes.
And she wondered why; why had she hummed back at him in response.