Save My Heart: Ndwaru Road Series, #2

By Elly Kamari

Leila Karani fell in love, thinking it was forever. She got pregnant and went to see her boyfriend, Nathan Njeru, thinking he would support her and their baby, but she was wrong. Nathan declared he did not love her anymore and instead urged her to abort their baby.

Eight years later, Leila is a single mother running a fabric and tailoring shop in Nairobi, and her daughter's happiness is her only concern. When a Fashion Design opportunity comes her way, she unexpectedly encounters Nathan. Now, Leila must make a decision that will profoundly impact her daughter's future, especially when she learns the truth about Nathan's past actions.

 

Can Leila navigate the tumultuous waters of forgiveness and allow her heart to love a man she's despised for so long yet still feels connected to?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elly Kamari
• Release date: Mar 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311601285

Elly Kamari

Elly Kamari is the author of Koya's Choice and Save My Heart. She is based in Nairobi, Kenya. She loves writing and creating worlds set in Nairobi, the sunny city, featuring strong women who fight for what they want.

Book preview

SAVE MY HEART

By

Elly Kamari

Save My Heart

By

Elly Kamari

Copyright © Elly Kamari 2014

All Rights Reserved.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

​Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

​Chapter One

Leila Karani shifted the shopping bag from one hand to the other as she crossed the busy street outside the lifestyle mall in Nairobi. She walked briskly along the sidewalk and headed for Biashara Street.

Glancing at her cell phone, she grimaced at the time. She was running late for her next appointment and hoped her client would be running late, too. Adjusting her grip on the shopping bag, she quickened her pace.

At twenty-eight, Leila was the proud owner of a thriving fashion business called Leila Fashions. Her store sold bespoke clothing, cut and tailored to each client’s measurements. She also sold fabric. The store enjoyed a steady income, covering her bills and the salaries of four tailors and two assistants.

Leila could afford a comfortable life for her daughter, Sonya, and for her mother—Sonya’s grandmother. Sonya was her unexpected gift, Leila thought, as she shifted the weight of the shopping bag in her hand. The items inside were party supplies for Sonya’s eighth birthday party the next day.

Leila had gotten pregnant at twenty while in college, studying to become a teacher. She tried not to think about Sonya’s father, preferring to imagine he didn’t exist—but it didn’t always work. Still, she attempted not to dwell on him.

Pulling her thoughts away from the growing pit of anger at the memory of Sonya’s father, Leila focused instead on the many good things in her life. Despite the circumstances, Sonya was the best decision Leila had ever made. Her daughter filled her days with joy and excitement. She couldn’t wait to see Sonya’s face on Saturday when she opened her birthday gifts.

With a smile, Leila hurried into her shop, pleased to see her two sales assistants working hard to help walk-in customers. Their daily sales often came from fabric and small items such as thread and needles.

Did you manage? asked her best friend and business manager, Terry Lenku, from the bespoke section of the shop, where she was jotting down measurements in their order book.

The line at the checkout counter was too long at the supermarket. I almost left, Leila said. But I didn’t. We need paper cups, plates, and party hats. Am I late?

No. Our client hasn’t arrived yet, Terry said, knowing Leila was referring to their upcoming appointment. A delivery guy brought a letter for you. Have you ordered anything?

Leila frowned as she took the envelope Terry handed her.

What sort of order would arrive in such a small envelope? Possibly a payment. Her name was printed on the envelope, along with her shop’s name.

Miriam is here, Terry said.

Leila turned and smiled at the tall, elegant woman who had just entered the shop.

Miriam Nderitu—soon to become Miriam Mwangi—worked in finance management at a bank. Leila loved Miriam’s style, which featured tidy, tailored skirts, blouses, and fitted dresses that hugged her figure perfectly.

Leila particularly enjoyed designing clothes for Miriam, given Miriam’s height and striking looks. In another life, she would have been the perfect model. Instead, Miriam used her classic beauty and brilliant mind to conquer the corporate world.

I hope I’m not late, Miriam said, glancing at a delicate gold watch on her left wrist. I have a meeting in thirty minutes.

Leila nodded sympathetically and led her to the back of the shop. They entered an elegant sitting room that included a dressing room used for fittings. Leila set her shopping bag and the mysterious letter on a table by the window, then dove right into fitting the delicate white organza dress she had designed for Miriam’s wedding.

For the next thirty minutes, she adjusted and listened to Miriam’s suggestions. After Miriam left, Leila spent the rest of the afternoon refining the wedding dress. She liked making changes immediately to keep her orders on schedule.

She was finishing work on the side zipper when Terry walked in.

It’s five o’clock, Terry said, her voice filled with pleasure.

Leila looked up at her and pricked her finger on the needle. Sighing, she sucked on the painful spot and gave up on the dress for the day.

Are the ladies done cleaning up out there? she asked.

Yes, I’ve closed out the till. How’s it going? Terry asked, approaching Leila’s workstation. It’s beautiful. I love the skirt and the ruffles. Miriam seemed pleased with your work.

We made a few adjustments in the chest and waist, plus there was a zipper issue, Leila said, standing. She placed the wedding dress on a hanger and carried it to a rack holding five more dresses, all in various stages of completion and covered with a white sheet. Miriam’s dress was the most finished.

I can’t believe we’re almost done, Leila said, making sure the wedding gown hung correctly. She pulled the sheet over Miriam’s dress as well.

Stretching her arms over her head, Leila groaned when her shoulder muscles protested.

Do you need a ride? she asked Terry as she turned off her sewing machine and removed the apron, she wore over her neat blue blouse and matching skirt. Clearing her workstation with quick, practiced movements, she folded the apron.

Not today, Terry said with a wide grin on her pretty face. I have a date.

Ah, so that explained the grin, Leila thought with amusement. She walked to the table to pick up her shopping bag.

Who is it? she asked, checking her purchases.

Remember Tim from Co-op Bank down the street? Terry asked.

You mean the one who tried to sign us up for savings accounts by force? Leila said, laughing.

He was just trying to get new customers! Terry protested. Anyway, he asked me out. Nothing fancy—we’ll probably just grab fries and chicken, then head home.

Sounds like fun, Leila said approvingly. Then she remembered it was Friday and thought of Terry’s occasional habit of getting carried away. Don’t leave your drink unattended.

Yes, Mom, Terry teased with a playful shake of her head. Why don’t you ever go on dates?

Leila sighed as she tied the shopping bag.

I have a kid, Terry. There’s no time for dates. Besides, as soon as anyone hears I have a child, he bolts.

Oh, come on. No sane man would walk away from a hardworking, pretty woman. You just don’t give them a chance.

I don’t need to, Leila said, her gaze drifting to the mysterious letter on the table. She put the shopping bag down and picked up the white envelope. Using her nail, she ripped it open and gasped when a gold invitation card and a letter fell out.

Leila picked up the letter and read it with barely contained excitement.

What is it? Terry moved closer to read the invitation.

Leila held the letter in trembling hands while Terry read the gold invitation aloud:

‘The Kenya National Fashion Association (KNFA) invites you to participate in the Fashion Competition, to be held in two months. Afri-Fabrics Industries has sponsored your participation. If you win, you and your business will have an opportunity to showcase your work internationally.’

Terry gripped Leila’s right shoulder.

Is this for real? Terry asked.

The attached letter appeared perfectly legitimate. Leila could