Chereads / Illusive Eden - He Pretends He's the Hero / Chapter 107 - A slice of heaven

Chapter 107 - A slice of heaven

At around two in the evening, Ishmael arrived home.

After he left the hotel casino, immediately they drove to his villa thirty minutes of standard speed away from the casino.

The flight in his private jet had only held four hours to travel from Las Vegas to Finland. Now as the butler in his early forties, build lean and tall with slicked hair parted in the middle and a moustache adding a refined flair to him greeted him at the door, Ishmael immediately asked about his wife.

When the pale man succored Ishmael's yearning, he walked out to fetch his master's belonging from the Rolls–Royce parked in the driveway.

Ishmael headed straight to the kitchen as the butler relayed of where she was.

His steps slowed, heart lightened, mellowed as he stood at the doorway: absorbing Neva—engaged before the white marbled counter, whipping something in the blue bowl with the cream beater, while carrying their sleeping daughter in the baby wrap.

The buzzing sound of the beater seized as Neva turned her head to his direction. A smile curved up his lips, blooming delight on her own features.

"Hello love," Ishmael said, sauntering inside.

"Hello husband." Neva replied, and gazing away—she removed the cream beater from the mixer, and placing the beater on the counter she left the steel mixer on the sink nearby momentarily.

"How is she?" He asked frowning, scrutinizing the pale slumbering little girl beared on Neva's chest.

"The fever has gone down. You shouldn't have rushed." Neva said, rubbing Inaya's small back soothingly.

"Fortunately, it wasn't that bad."

Ishmael reached to graze Inaya's forehead to check the temperature. She was slightly warmer than normal. The reason he left the casino early was because Zev informed him about his daughter's sudden fever.

Although he had another day of business in Las Vegas, he trusted Manager Cha and Zev with it, and had arrived home to be there for a sick Inaya.

"How did she even catch fever?" He inquired, retracting his hand.

"Harsh season change, probably."

Ishmael looked concerned at his daughter breathing heavier, suffocatingly with her mouth, her nose blocked due to the cold.

"You should go change and get some rest." Neva urged, analysing him tired and still in his formal wear.

Ishmael smiled at her, a palm smoothened on their daughter's back, and the other hand holding Neva's arm, leaning in to kiss her cheek—he then breezed to capture her sweet pink lips.

"I missed you." He murmered against her lips. It was just two days he was gone, but each moment without her goes by agonizingly leaden. "Me too," Neva returned a smile.

"Where are the maids? Why are you doing all the work?'' Ishmael demanded, scrunching his face at the white cream on the bowl.

Neva chuckled. "I send the cook away for the evening, and I'm barely doing anything." Just then a shrill ting sound snatched her attention on one of the middle ovens below the stoves, alerting—across the huge kitchen.

"Let me." Ishmael declared, catching Neva's steps to get the oven, taking the mittens from her and slipping them in his hands instead.

As he withdrew the tray, the warm and sweet, slightly spicy smell of cinnamon rolls swirled calmness inside him. He breathed in deeply the scent, humming in satisfaction as he stepped towards Neva.

"Cinnamon rolls," he mumbled to himself, placing the white tray on the counter top.

"Isaiah demanded I make him some, since it's fall season." Neva said, taking a spoon and the bowl of cream, scooping the cream–cheese icing, she carefully applied with the back of the spoon frosting to the surface of the puffed and golden cinnamon rolls.

"Speaking of him, where's my son?" Ishmael asked.

"In his playroom, obviously." Neva shrugged a shoulder, focused on the icing—when running steps of tiny feet down the stairs hauled their consciousness, anticipating of the said someone to appear very soon.

Ishmael shaked his head. "Speak of the devil." He joked, making Neva chuckle amusedly.

"Mumma!" Isaiah's voice echoed in the silence of the halls of the enormous mansion as he crashed into the kitchen.

Then he grinned widely, eyes rounded and glinted at the surprise presence of his father beside his mother.

"Papa you're back!" Isaiah ran to Ishmael, who smiled and crouched down to envelop the boy in his arms.

"My my, did you get this big with me gone only for two days?" Ishmael bewildered playfully raised an eyebrow, rocking him in his arms, wafting giggles out the child.

"I want to get big soon." Isaiah exclaimed joyfully.

Then the buttery and sticky sweet aroma of cinnamon rolls fastened his gaze on the mouth watering dessert coated in white frosting, below on the surface of the counter.

"My cinnamon rolls!" Isaiah jumped in Ishmael's hold, bending his body, reaching, elongating his short hands for the pastry.

"In a moment Isaiah, let me plate it." Neva sternly affirmed, sighing at her way too much excited son.

Isaiah eagerly wiggled to be put down on the floor, and as Ishmael did so, the boy lunged for the rolls in the tray—before Neva could even scoop a slice in the plate she just fetched.

But Neva already seen through Isaiah's actions, gripped his wrist before he could scald his sensitive layer, dipping his fingers on the still fresh and hot cinnamon rolls.

"Mumma let me taste it!" Isaiah cried, jumping up and down relentlessly.

"Patience baby." Neva said, cutting one slice out and setting it down the plate.

"I want four. No five." Isaiah implored, swallowing, his gaze trailing Neva as she scooped up a clump with a fork and brought near her lips, blowing air to cool it down.

Ishmael stood there, adoration swimming in his eyes—in the smile, heart overflowing in love at his little family.

Neva offered after Isaiah, Ishmael a bite of the dessert too, to which he gladly agaped his lips and accepted it.

His little girl's sorely woken up from the loudness of her overly enraptured brother.

This moment, he wished one of this slice of heaven he could just live forever; for the reason her—could just last forever.