The dining room buzzed with warmth and laughter. The table, rich with colors and aromas, had become the heart of the house. Everyone was seated, digging into the meal Bella had prepared with love and cultural pride. From the tender goat stew to the golden rice infused with garlic and cinnamon, the steamed green bananas, fried cabbage, and refreshing hibiscus juice—each dish told a story.
Alex took a long sip of juice, leaned back in his chair, and said with a grin, "Honestly, if this is what Ugandan food is like, I might just end up marrying a Ugandan."
The table burst into laughter.
Jr's mother turned to Bella, shaking her head with a smile. "Bella, my dear, you'll have to teach me how to make all this. These fresh foods… they're not just beautiful—they're incredibly tasty!"
Old Mrs. Hampton, seated regally at the end of the table, nodded proudly. "Oh, that's my girl. When I was here last, she kept surprising me with new meals every day. She has a gift."
Jr's father lifted his glass, filled with the ruby-red hibiscus juice, and sighed contentedly. "I've missed this juice. You don't know what you've got until you've gone without it."
The room was alive with joy and appreciation. Conversation flowed easily among the older guests while Lisa, Bianca, and Bonita—the younger girls—were quietly enjoying their meals. The trio barely spoke a word, focused completely on their food, leaving the adults to reminisce and chat.
Unbeknownst to many at the table, the celebration extended far beyond the dining room. The staff—bodyguards, chefs, cleaners, gatemen, and the butler—were all enjoying the same meal in the back quarters. Bella had made sure of it. It was one of the things everyone admired about her: she treated everyone equally. For her, hospitality wasn't just for guests in fine clothes—it was a gesture of kindness meant for all.
"She always makes sure we eat like family," one of the cleaners whispered to another as they sat around a smaller table. The others nodded in agreement as they savored their plates, laughter echoing from their side of the estate.
Back in the main dining room, Jr's phone buzzed on the table. He glanced at it briefly—unknown number. It rang again.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he chose to stay present, honoring the meal, the effort Bella had put in, and the importance of the company around him. That was Jr's way: business came second when family and friends were in the room.
The afternoon sun filtered softly through the large windows, casting a golden glow over the polished wood table. Glasses clinked, spoons scraped plates, and satisfied sighs filled the air. Every stomach was full, every heart a little fuller.
After the last bites were taken, Mrs. White and Vivian came and began clearing the table. Bella quickly rose to help, carrying stacks of plates into the kitchen with practiced ease. They moved together like a well-rehearsed trio—washing, drying, and returning everything to its place.
Once the kitchen was tidy, Bella returned to the sitting room, where the guests had all settled in. Some were chatting softly, others simply relaxing into the plush furniture, their expressions peaceful and content.
Just then, Jr's phone buzzed once more.
He excused himself politely and walked upstairs to the third-floor balcony. It was quiet there, the city stretching out before him under a pale blue sky. He answered the call, his voice low and calm.
"Talk," he said.
The voice on the other end was firm, serious.
"Mr. Hampton, I'm sorry to disturb you," said Inspectorate Gibson. "But I thought you should be informed. The mission carried out by our spies and special forces was successful."
Jr's eyes narrowed slightly, a small smile forming on his lips. "That's indeed great news. The storm is over. We'll be meeting the president tomorrow then."
"Yes, sir," came the response. "All preparations are in place."
Jr hung up without another word and stood for a moment, breathing in the afternoon air. The wind had shifted. A storm had passed—quietly, efficiently—and though none of the people downstairs knew, something significant had changed.
He returned to the sitting room, entering just as his grandmother leaned forward to speak.
"Jr, I thought you were still in the countryside?" he asked, surprised to see her.
Jr's mother smiled gently and answered. "She came in yesterday for a medical check-up. Since your grandfather was too busy to accompany her, I suggested she stay with us for a few days."
"That makes sense," Jr replied, nodding as he took his seat beside Bella.
Jr's mother turned toward Bella and said, "Thank you again, Bella, for inviting us all to lunch. We wouldn't have had the chance to enjoy such special African food otherwise."
Bella blushed slightly but smiled. "I'm just happy you all came. It means a lot to me."
Jr reached for her hand under the table and gave it a soft squeeze—both a thank-you and a quiet acknowledgment. She had brought everyone together, created a moment of peace in a world that didn't always allow for it.
As conversation resumed, the house held a rare kind of stillness. Not silent, but full. Full of food, yes, but also of gratitude, tradition, and an unspoken bond that only shared meals seem to forge.
The afternoon slowly drifted into early evening, with soft chatter, gentle laughs, and the occasional clinking of teacups. Outside, the sun began its slow descent, and inside, Bella's feast lived on in stories, satisfied smiles, and the memory of something beautiful—something made with food.