Tammy was sitting cross-legged on her bed, bonnet half hanging off her head, phone pressed to her ear.
“So let me understand,” Femi said, his voice warm through the speaker, “this client looked at the sketch and said what exactly?”
Tammy laughed loudly. “She said the neckline was too decent.”
Femi gasped dramatically. “Too decent keh?”
“I said aunty, do you want to marry or do you want to trend on Instagram for showing breast?”
He burst into laughter. “Tammy! You did not.”
“I did oo. I no dey fear anybody. I told her that as a stylist, my brand is all about classy drama, not trashy drama.”
He laughed harder. “God bless your mouth.”
She smiled to herself, pleased. “But she’ll come around. They always do. Once they see the outfit come to life.”
“Stylist of life,” he teased. “So how many brides are we styling this year?”
“Excuse me,” she said playfully. “Focus on your own bride first.”
There was a brief pause.
“My own bride?” he asked softly.
She cleared her throat quickly. “I mean… whenever.”
He didn’t press. He rarely did.
“I’m still looking at houses in Lagos,” he said instead. “That agent you recommended… Tammy, I think he’s just collecting my money.”
She laughed. “How much has he chopped now?”
“Don’t ask.”
“No, tell me.”
He mentioned the figure.
Tammy shrieked. “Jesu! For what? To show you houses that look like haunted warehouses?”
“Exactly!”
“You should have told me earlier na.”
“I didn’t want to stress you.”
“Please stress me. Lagos agents need werey for them to act alright.”
They both started ranting about Lagos house agents, how they’d collect inspection fee and show you one unpainted building with broken tiles, how everything was “slightly negotiable” but nothing ever reduced.
“I’ll call someone else tomorrow,” Tammy said. “There’s one agent that got a house for one of my brides and her husband. He seemed very serious.”
“You see why I like you?” Femi said warmly. “You’re always looking out for me.”
She smiled quietly, her fingers tracing patterns on her duvet.
“I try.”
In the background, she heard a door open on his end.
“Femi?” a woman’s voice called.
He shifted slightly. “Yes, Ma?”
“Who are you talking to like this? You’re laughing as if you’ve won a contract.”
Tammy’s heart skipped.
Femi laughed. “It’s Tammy, Ma.”
There was a small pause.
“Ohh,” the woman said knowingly. “Our Tammy?”
“Yes, Ma.”
“Let me greet her.”
Tammy froze.
“Ah.”
Her heart started racing. She quickly sat up properly, removed the bonnet from her head as if the woman could somehow see her through the phone.
“Hold on,” Femi said gently. “Don’t run.”
“I’m not running,” she whispered urgently. “I just…”
But it was too late.
“Hello?” his mum’s voice came through clearly now.
Tammy straightened instinctively.
“Good evening, Ma.”
“Good evening, my dear,” the woman replied warmly. “So you’re the one making my son laugh like this?”
Tammy let out a small nervous laugh. “I hope it’s not too much, Ma.”
“It’s good. The boy is always too serious.”
Femi protested faintly in the background. “Mum…”
His mum ignored him.
“How are you, my dear?”
“I’m fine, Ma. How are you?”
“I’m well. Femi talks a lot about you.”
Tammy blinked. He does?
“Good things oo,” his mum added quickly, amusement in her tone. “He says you are hardworking and you are a no-nonsense person.”
Tammy relaxed slightly.
They gisted lightly for a few minutes. His mum asked about her work. Tammy answered respectfully but naturally, her confidence slowly returning.
“You must come around to see me one of these days,” his mum said suddenly.
Tammy’s breath caught. “Ma?”
“Infact come for lunch tomorrow after service.”
Her mind started racing.
Femi made a small sound like he was about to intervene, but his mum continued.
“I want to finally see the girl that is making my son smile at his phone.”
Tammy laughed nervously. “Ma…”
“You will come abi?” the woman said kindly but firmly. “It’s just lunch.”
Tammy glanced at her reflection in the mirror across the room as if it could help her decide.
She couldn’t say no.
“Yes, Ma,” she said finally. “I’ll come.”
“Good. I look forward to seeing you.”
They exchanged pleasantries and the phone was passed back to Femi.
There was a small silence.
“So,” he said cautiously.
“So?” she echoed.
“You’re coming.”
She exhaled slowly. “I don’t have a choice.”
He sounded relieved. “Don’t be nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not!”
He chuckled softly. “My mum already likes you.”
“From what? Two minutes of conversation?”
“That’s how she is. She reads people fast.”
Tammy swallowed quietly.
“Femi.”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t… don’t expect too much.”
There was a pause on the line.
“I’m not forcing anything,” he said gently. “You said you’re still praying and I respect that.”
She nodded even though he couldn’t see her.
It had been one month.
One month of dates, of steady consistency. One month of him officially asking her to be his girlfriend.
And her saying she needed time.
Because deep down, she knew something wasn’t settled inside her yet.
She didn’t want to hurt him.
She didn’t want to choose wrong.
“Just come for lunch,” he said lightly. “If you don’t like the food, you can still run.”
She laughed.
“Goodnight, Tammy.”
“Goodnight.”
When the call ended, she sat still for a moment.
Lunch with his mother???
She pressed her palm to her chest.
“God,” she whispered, “help me”
Sunday morning came soft and bright.
Tammy woke before her alarm. For a few seconds after her devotion, she lay still, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint hum of traffic outside. Then she remembered.
Lunch.
She rolled over and buried her face in her pillow.
“God,” she muttered, half laughing, half groaning, “you and I need to talk properly, later.”
She bathed, dressed slowly, choosing a soft peach dress that hugged her just enough without shouting. Nothing dramatic. Church-appropriate. Future-daughter-in-law appropriate.
She braided her hair into a low bun and kept her makeup light.
Service that morning was powerful.
The worship was heavy in a quiet way. The choir sang “Goodness of God” and Tammy’s voice trembled on the bridge. She didn’t know if it was anticipation or the weight of everything swirling inside her.
Pastor Ade preached from Proverbs. It was one of those messages that didn’t shout but sat on your chest.
He spoke about discernment. About not mistaking peace for convenience. About how sometimes the right thing doesn’t come with fireworks but comes steady and sure.
Tammy tried not to overthink it.
She sang, she clapped, she prayed.
Service ended and announcements were being made, Pastor Ade’s voice came through.
“Tammy.”
She looked up immediately.
“Yes, sir?”
“I would like to see you after the worker’s appraisal.”
Her heart skipped.
“Okay, daddy.”
She returned to her choir seat, trying to calm the slight tension creeping into her chest. Pastor Ade had not called her like that in a while. Not since Valerie and Purity left the branch and moved to the new location where Purity was now an assistant pastor.
What could it be?
After the closing prayer, people began greeting one another. Tammy was just about to make her way toward the Pastor’s office when her phone buzzed.
Femi.
She stepped aside and checked the message.
Hi Tammy. I’m outside your church to pick you up for lunch.
Her stomach flipped.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Pastor Ade wants to see me.”
She quickly dialed him.
“Hello?” His voice came warm and steady.
“Hi… you’re here already?”
“Yes, ma. I came early so I wouldn’t keep you waiting.”
She bit her lip. “My Pastor said he wants to see me.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t know how long it will take. I don’t want to keep you waiting.”
There was no hesitation in his voice. “It’s fine. I’ll wait.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
She inhaled slowly.
“Okay. Let me just come outside first.”
She hurried toward the church entrance.
The moment she stepped outside and saw him leaning casually against his car, something inside her softened.
He was wearing a simple navy shirt tucked into beige trousers. Not trying too hard. But fine.
Very fine.
He looked up and smiled immediately.
“Hi.”
She walked up to him and they hugged briefly. Not too tight. They were in the church compound and there were eyes everywhere.
“Pastor wants to see me,” she said again. “I don’t know how long it’ll take.”
“I said I’ll wait.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Just as she turned to go back inside, she heard a voice.
“Tammy.”
She turned sharply.
Pastor Ade was already walking toward them.
Her heart jumped into her throat.
“Daddy!” she rushed forward slightly. “I’m sorry, I was supposed to see you. I just had a few things to do.”
He smiled gently. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, sir.”
He nodded, then his eyes shifted to Femi.
Femi straightened immediately and stepped forward respectfully.
“Good afternoon, sir.” He stretched out his hand. “My name is Femi.”
Pastor Ade shook his hand calmly. “Good afternoon.”
“Are you a member here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“No, sir. I attend another church.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Pastor Ade nodded. “So you’re Tammy’s friend?”
Femi glanced at Tammy for half a second before answering. “Yes, sir.”
Tammy felt her ears grow warm.
Pastor Ade studied both of them briefly.
“Are you people going somewhere?”
Tammy spoke quickly. “Yes, sir. We’re supposed to….”
“It’s fine,” Pastor said gently. “Go where you’re going. When you’re done, we’ll see. Call me during the week.”
Her chest tightened slightly.
“Sir?”
“It’s important.”
Her heartbeat increased.
“Yes, sir.”
“Make sure you call me.”
“I will.”
Pastor Ade nodded at Femi again. “Nice to meet you, Femi.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He turned and walked back toward the church building.
Tammy exhaled.
Femi looked at her. “I like your pastor.”
She smiled. “Pastor Ade? That man is a well of knowledge. A well of wisdom. One of the best pastors I’ve ever sat under.”
He chuckled.
“He’s calm, but he doesn’t take rubbish. You cannot do nonsense under him.”
“Noted,” Femi said playfully.
She shook her head at him and they walked toward his car.
She hadn’t driven to church that day because she knew he was picking her.
As they drove, soft worship music played in the background.
“Are you nervous?” he asked casually.
“No.”
“You’re lying again.”
She sighed. “I am just a little bit nervous.”
“It’ll be fine. My mum is not a dragon.”
“I didn’t say she is.”
His mother’s house was warm and inviting. Not overly flashy. Just lived-in and neat.
The moment they stepped inside, his mum came forward with a bright smile.
“Tammy!” she exclaimed.
Tammy bent slightly in greeting. “Good afternoon, ma.”
His mum pulled her into a hug.
“How are you, my dear?”
“I’m fine, ma. I’m happy to be here.”
“You’re welcome. Very welcome.”
Lunch was laid out already. Jollof rice, fried rice, grilled chicken, salad, small chops, and of course, chin chin in a glass jar near the window.
They sat at the dining table.
The conversation started easy. His mum asked about her business. Tammy spoke carefully about styling, brides and fittings. Femi watched her fondly.
Sometimes their eyes met over the dining table and held for a second too long.
At one point, their hands brushed as they both reached for the salad spoon.
Neither moved immediately.
His mum cleared her throat lightly.
Tammy quickly withdrew her hand.
Then his mum wiped her hands gently with a napkin and looked at Tammy more directly.
“How old are you, my dear?”
Tammy swallowed. “I’m 32 years old, ma.”
“Hmm.” His mum nodded approvingly. “That’s good.”
She leaned back slightly.
“Do you see yourself living in Nigeria after marriage? Or getting married outside Nigeria?”
Tammy blinked.
“I… I’m not against relocating, ma. But I’m also not desperate to leave. I can work anywhere.”
“That’s good,” his mum said thoughtfully.
Then she glanced at Femi.
“So what is it that you and Femi are doing?”
“Mommy,” Femi said immediately. “Mommy, please.”
His mum waved him off.
“Ehn ehn ehn,” she said in Yoruba. “Ma pa mi lẹ́nu, ọmọ yìí. Èmi lo bí ẹ. O ò lè pa mi lẹ́nu.”
(Don’t shut me up, this child. I’m the one that gave birth to you. You cannot shut me up.)
Tammy nearly choked on her water.
His mum turned to her again, switching to Yoruba first.
“Tamilore, ẹ kò jẹ́ ọmọ kékeré. Fẹmi náà kò jẹ́ ọmọ kékeré. Ẹ ti dàgbà, ẹ sì ti pé fún ìgbéyàwó.”
(Tamilore, you are not a small child. Femi is not a small child. You are both grown and of marriageable age.)
Then she switched back to English.
“When do you both want to get married?”
Tammy froze.
Before she could recover, his mum added in Yoruba:
“Nigbà wo ni ẹ máa fẹ́ parí ìrìn àjò yìí kí ẹ sì bí ọmọ fún mi?”
(When do you both want to finally settle down and give me grandchildren?)
Tammy actually choked this time.
“Ma….” she coughed lightly. “Ma, I…”
Femi rubbed his forehead. “Mommy, please.”
His mum sighed softly.
“I’m not putting pressure on you ooo,” she said to Tammy more gently. “But it’s been over one month. Femi does not invest in things he doesn’t like.”
Tammy’s heart squeezed.
“He really likes you,” his mum continued. “But it feels like you don’t like my son.”
“Ah no, ma!” Tammy said quickly. “It’s not like that.”
“I’m just saying,” his mum continued calmly, “seek the face of God genuinely. If Femi is not the one, tell him. I don’t want him to relocate because of you and you don’t end up marrying him.”
“Mommy,” Femi cut in firmly. “First of all, I am not relocating because of Tammy. I’m establishing a life here for myself. That decision is bigger than one person.”
He looked at his mum steadily.
“And please, don’t interrogate her. I’m the one asking her out. When it’s right, we’ll take it further. For now, I would appreciate it if you respect our privacy.”
His mum clicked her tongue lightly.
“Ah!!! Now you know how to talk.”
Then she added in Yoruba:
“Ohun tí ẹ bá fẹ́ ṣe, ẹ ṣe. Àwọn ọmọ òde òní, ẹ ń fi àkókò ṣeré.”
(Do whatever you both want to do. Children nowadays, you people are just wasting time.)
Tammy felt heat crawl up her neck.
The rest of lunch passed more calmly.
When it was time to leave, his mum hugged her tightly and handed her a small container.
“I made extra chin chin,” she smiled.
Tammy’s face lit up. “Thank you, ma.”
Then his mum held her hand.
“My darling,” she said softly, “please pray about it. And be intentional. Don’t just pray. Check your heart. If you don’t like Femi, please don’t waste his time.”
Tammy nodded slowly. “Thank you, ma.”
Femi came forward.
“Let’s go.”
As they stepped outside, the afternoon sun was bright.
They walked to the car quietly. When they got in, neither spoke immediately.
Finally, Femi sighed lightly.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For my mum’s interrogation.”
Tammy smiled faintly. “She was just being honest and protective of her son.”
Femi nodded and they drove in comfortable silence.
As he pulled up in front of her house, he turned to her.
“I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
She nodded.
“I know.”
He studied her face for a moment.
“Just pray,” he said gently. “And be honest with me.”
She swallowed.
“I will.”
He walked her to the door.
She turned to him.
“Thank you for today.”
He smiled softly. “Thank you for coming.”
As she stepped inside, her chest felt heavy.
Upstairs in her room, she dropped the chin chin container on her dresser and sat on her bed.
She pressed her palms together and closed her eyes.
“God,” she whispered, “what are you saying?”
Monday morning arrived with a stillness that felt intentional.
Tammy woke before her alarm, her heart heavy with the residual weight of the night before.
She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling as fragments of the conversation drifted through her mind, the quiet expectations in Femi’s mother’s voice, the gravity of Pastor Ade’s “It’s important,” and the desperate, whispered prayer she had sent upward before sleep finally claimed her.
When she finally moved, it wasn’t to reach for her phone. Instead, she slid out of bed and sank to her knees.
The room was bathed in the soft, grey light of dawn, the world outside still caught in a yawn.
“Father,” she began, her voice thick and stripped of pretense. She didn’t have the energy for “long grammar” or polished petitions.
“I am tired.” Her shoulders trembled.
“I’m tired of the guessing games. Tired of wondering if I’m hearing Your voice or just the echo of my own fears. I don’t want to marry out of a fear of being alone, but I don’t want to walk away from a good thing because I’m afraid of being wrong.”
Her hands gripped each other tightly.
“You promised me at Valerie’s wedding, You said my season was close. I’ve held onto that word like oxygen, but it’s been months, and I’m still standing in the same place.”
Her throat burned as a single tear escaped.
“Open the eyes of my understanding. If Femi is the one, let my heart find its rest. If he isn’t, let me not waste his time. And if there is someone else, don’t let my impatience sabotage Your timing.”
She bowed her head until it nearly touched the floor.
“I surrender it all. My plans, my ‘spec,’ my pride, and my fear. I don’t want to lead myself anymore. Please... just help me.”
She remained there in the silence, letting the vulnerability settle. When she finally stood, her eyes were puffy, but the pressure in her chest had eased. She didn’t have a roadmap yet, but she had something better: she had let go.
The shower was running when her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Good morning, is this Tammy?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“Hi! My name is Koda. I got your contact from Mrs. Adetola. She mentioned you’re an exceptional personal stylist. I’m looking for something elegant for my mother; she has a major event coming up.”
In an instant, Tammy’s professional veneer clicked into place. Her spine straightened.
“Thank you so much for reaching out. I’d be delighted to help. To get a feel for the direction, could you tell me a bit more about the event? Is it a formal gala, a milestone celebration, or something more intimate?”
“A 60th birthday. We want her to look classy, modern, but understated. Nothing ‘loud.’”
“Understood,” Tammy replied, her mind already cataloging fabrics.
“We can certainly curate a refined look, think structured silhouettes and clean tailoring with a contemporary edge.” She started
“I usually start with a consultation to discuss her style preferences, color palette, and the theme. From there, I’ll develop a mood board and styling direction for the designers.”
“That sounds perfect. Where are you located?”
“My studio, Atelier Tami, is in Lekki. We could even do a consultation today if your schedule allows.”
“Today works. How soon?”
“Give me two hours. I’ll have my team ready for you.”
Tammy ended the call and let out a long, slow breath.
“God,” she whispered, a small smile playing on her lips.
“Thank you.”
She had spent years quietly building her brand on a foundation of excellence rather than loud PR.
The recent rebrand to Atelier Tami felt right, it was intentional, premium, and clean.
She moved through her morning routine with newfound efficiency: a crisp white blouse, tailored high-waisted trousers, nude heels, and minimal gold jewelry.
Before heading out, she checked in with her siblings.
“Big sis!” her younger brother answered on the second ring.
“Are you in class yet?”
“I’m on my way, ma.”
“Liar,” she teased.
He laughed. “Okay, I just woke up.”
“Lazy boy,” she hissed playfully just as her sisters joined the group call.
“Our CEO is up early!” Her sister chirped.
“How is your London boy, Femi?” Shindara added immediately.
Tammy rolled her eyes. “It is well.”
“Leave her alone,” her brother jumped in. “They’re always trying to ship you off, sis.”
“I have a major client meeting,” Tammy told them, grabbing her keys. “A big referral. Pray for me.”
“We’re praying for you,” her brother said softly. The sincerity in his voice warmed her all the way to the car.
The drive through Lekki traffic was fueled by caffeine and worship music. She dialed her assistant, Chioma.
“Good morning, Chioma. We have a consultation in an hour. Prepare the lounge. Pull the ‘Mature Elegance’ portfolio and have the swatches ready, neutrals, champagne, soft gold, and that deep emerald silk.”
“I am on it, ma.”
“And tell Kola to stand by for sketches once we approve the direction.”
When Tammy stepped into the studio, the glass doors of Atelier Tami caught the morning sun. The space was a sanctuary of cream walls, gold accents, and perfectly draped mannequins. She walked through the showroom, adjusting a lapel here and a fabric drape there.
She closed her eyes briefly before her desk.
Let excellence speak today.
Then, her phone buzzed again.
Valerie.
“Madam Pregnant Woman!” Tammy laughed.
“Godmother of the baby! How are you?” Valerie’s voice was bright.
“I’m in Benin with my parents for the week. My mom is already overfeeding me.”
“As she should. How’s the morning sickness?”
“Manageable. But how are you? I know that tone, Tammy.”
“I’m... good,” Tammy said simply.
“I had a long talk with God this morning. I’m just letting things happen.”
“Good. About time.”
A notification popped up on Tammy’s screen.
The client had arrived.
“Val, duty calls. My client is downstairs.”
“Go kill it, baby. Love you!”
Tammy smoothed her blouse, checked her reflection, and walked toward the elevator.
The elevator doors slid open, and Tammy stepped out with her most polished “CEO smile.”
But the moment her eyes landed on the group waiting in the lobby, the smile faltered into a mask of pure, unadulterated shock.
Standing there was the stylish younger woman she’d spoken to, and an older woman of breathtaking elegance. But between them stood a man. Tall, broad-shouldered, with skin the color of toasted almond and a head of soft, neatly maintained locs that looked fresh from a trim.
In his arms was a familiar, chubby-cheeked seven-month-old girl with eyes like dark velvet.
“You!” Tammy gasped before she could catch herself.
The man’s eyebrows shot up, a slow, devastatingly handsome smirk spreading across his face.
“Hi, stranger at the supermarket. Why am I just seeing you everywhere?”
Tammy felt the heat climb her neck.
“I… I could ask you the same thing. The grocery store, the park, and now my studio?”
“Only thing is,” he chuckled, his voice a deep, melodic rumble,
“I don’t even know your name.”
“Right,” Tammy breathed, tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
“I don’t know yours either.”
The younger woman, who had been watching this exchange with a sharp, calculating gaze, cleared her throat loudly.
“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” Tammy stammered, regaining her professional footing.
“Please, come inside. Clearly, we have some catching up to do.”
As they walked into the light-filled studio, Tammy couldn’t help but stare at their striking features.
They were stunning, possessing that refined, “desert royalty” look. They had high, bridge-straight noses, luminous skin, and a distinct grace. The mother and daughter both had long, natural hair with tight, silken curls gathered into sophisticated updos.
They looked like they had stepped off the pages of an international architectural digest.
The younger woman, Koda, looked around the studio with a pinched expression. She was undeniably beautiful but carried an air of heavy-handed snobbery.
“So… this is your ‘Atelier’?” Koda asked, her tone dropping like a cold stone.
She ran a manicured finger over a gold rack.
“I don’t know. Mrs. Adetola speaks highly of you, but this space isn’t exactly matching my expectations for Mom’s Diamond Jubilee.”
Tammy’s heart tightened, but before she could defend her work, the man spoke up.
“Koda, stop,” he said firmly.
“What? It’s true,” Koda snapped, though she quieted down under his gaze. “Anyways, I suppose if the portfolio is as good as they say, you can deliver.”
The mother offered Tammy a graceful, apologetic smile.
“Ignore my daughter, dear. She thinks she’s the creative director of the world. I am Dr. Amina Bello. This is my son, Setto, and his daughter, Eliana but we fondly call her Altine.”
“Eliana,” Tammy repeated softly. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“It means ‘God has answered,’” Setto said, his eyes meeting Tammy’s for a second too long. “And Altine is my grandmother’s name.”
The consultation lasted two hours. Koda was difficult—critiquing every lace sample and questioning Tammy’s choice of silhouettes. Hajiya Amina was a dream, leaning toward the “structured elegance” Tammy championed.
Halfway through, Eliana started to fuss. Without a word, Setto stood up.
“I’ll take her out for some air. Carry on, ladies.”
When the session finally ended, Koda and Hajiya headed toward the elevator to wait for the driver. Setto, walked back in and lingered by the large glass window overlooking the street, Eliana now quiet and gripping his thumb.
Tammy walked over to him.
“So,” she said softly. “I really want to know your name officially. I think you already know mine from the sign outside, but I’m Tammy.”
She stretched out her hand. Instead of a quick business shake, he took her hand firmly, his skin warm against hers.
“Setto Bello,” he replied.
At the sound of his voice, little Eliana turned in his arms and let out a bright, gummy smile at Tammy.
She reached out her tiny hands, leaning her head back against her father’s chest while looking at Tammy with pure fascination.
“Oh my God,” Tammy whispered, her heart melting into a puddle.
“This baby just gets into my soul every single time.”
Setto laughed, a rich sound that made the room feel smaller.
“Can I get your number? Because they say three is a charm. This is the third time the universe has put you in my path, and I’d be a fool not to read the signs. I’d love to be friends with you.”
Tammy blinked, stunned by his directness. “My… my business line is on the card I gave your sister.”
“No,” Setto said, his gaze intensifying.
“Not your business number. I want your personal number. I want to call you, and I don’t want to talk about fabrics or fittings.”
Tammy felt like she was floating. She tucked her phone into his hand, and he dialed his number so her phone buzzed in her pocket.
“Save it,” he commanded gently. “And expect my call.”
Eliana suddenly lunged forward, trying to grab at the gold chain around Tammy’s neck and let out a tiny, melodic laugh.
Tammy laughed with her, her fingers brushing Setto’s arm as she steadied the baby.
“Setto! The car is here! Move your legs!” Koda’s voice shrieked from the hallway, impatient as ever.
Tammy pulled back, a sudden thought hitting her.
“Wait… sorry. You’re here with your mom and sister but… what about your wife? Is she coming for the fitting?”
Setto paused at the door. He looked at her, his expression unreadable but not unkind.
“We’ll talk about that, Tammy. We have a lot of time to talk about that.” He winked and disappeared behind the closing elevator doors.
Tammy stood frozen for two seconds before practically collapsing into her desk chair.
She was blushing so hard she had to fan herself with a lookbook.
A lot of time? Was he flirting with her? What if he was married??
Her heart was racing at a dangerous speed. She pulled out her phone, her curiosity finally getting the better of her. She typed “Setto” and “Dr Amina Bello” into Google.
The search results loaded instantly.
Tammy’s breath hitched. Her hand went to her mouth, and the color drained from her face as she scrolled through the headlines and the Forbes-level profiles.
“Oh… my… God,” she whispered to the empty room.
She wasn’t just styling a “nice family.” She had just given her personal phone number to the heir of one of the most powerful and private dynasties in West Africa—a man whose entire family had been the subject of a massive, religious scandal several years ago.
She stared at the screen, her heart hammering against her ribs. She didn’t know whether to scream with excitement or run for cover.
My babiesssss…….🥹🥹
Feels good to be back
I am so sorry that I’ve been AWOL. But guess what??? We’re getting a chapter of each story everyday for this week to make up for my absence.
That being said, what do you think of the Bello family?!
Where do you think this is headed???
I’m sat on the edge of my seat 🤭🤭
Kindly restack and comment so show me how much you missed me cause I missed you guys 🥹🥹
If you invite me to your house and harass me about when I'm getting married, then sneak in “I'm not pressuring you” whilst pressuring me… you have reduced your son's chances from 80% to -6%
Our Femi has been served breakfast (about to be) 😭 but then again, Setto is a whole package sha (hopefully) 🥹🥹