Match Made In Paradise by Barbara Dunlop (black female authors TXT) 📕

where half the people knew the words and half the people obviously didn’t. Mia was in the half who didn’t. And then everyone rose as the pallbearers escorted the casket down the aisle.

“She couldn’t be bothered to shed a tear.” Mia heard the voice behind her again.

She could have turned to see who’d uttered the words, but it didn’t matter. She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and fixed her expression, pretending she was on a runway in New York City. It was Alastair who’d fostered the ice-princess persona for Mia’s modeling career. He’d want her to carry it off today of all days. He’d be sorely disappointed in her if she turned into a blubbering mess.

And it wasn’t that kind of a sendoff. She was proud of Alastair, and he needed her to be strong. They’d often talked about the future, what would happen when she was left to manage things alone. It was time now for her to carry on.

Mourners clustered around Theresa as if she were the grieving widow. But their words of condolence faded as Mia followed behind Alastair’s casket. Nobody reached out to her, and she could feel the shuns, the disapproving stares as she made her way to the back of the chapel. Even Lafayette’s vice president of marketing, Geraldine Putts, slid her gaze to one side when Mia passed. The action struck Mia as odd, but the moment was over quickly, and then she was outside the cathedral, where a black hearse waited under the hot June sun with a dozen black sedans lined up behind.

There was something terribly final in the way they slid Alastair’s casket into the elongated car. Maybe it was knowing the next stop was Sunnydale Cemetery, where they’d put him in the ground and smooth the earth above him to erase his existence. Mia’s chest tightened, and she swallowed. She refused to cry.

Someone touched her arm. “You doing okay?”

It was Marnie Anton. Marnie was on the short side. She had a slight frame, glossy auburn hair, a spray of freckles and was wearing a pair of mottled-green oblong glasses over her green eyes. Dressed in skinny jeans and a white French-tucked blouse with a lightweight olive-colored jacket draped over top—interesting choice for a funeral—Marnie didn’t look at all like a lawyer. But she was the best.

“I’m doing fine,” Mia said, surprised that Marnie had shown up at all but relieved to have a supporter at her side.

“I came as soon as I heard.”

“Heard?”

Marnie had known about the funeral arrangements since Monday.

The pallbearers drew away and the hearse driver closed the oversized door. A flock of pigeons flew up from the square. Not doves, but still, maybe it was something. Mia’s breath hitched one more time.

Marnie canted her head to where Theresa, Henry and Hannah stood few feet away. She lowered her voice. “That those three just stabbed you in the back.”

Theresa started forward then, her nose in the air, holding tight to Henry’s and Hannah’s hands as she marched straight to the first sedan in the lineup.

“Seriously?” Marnie said, staring after the swish of Theresa’s taffeta skirt and the bobble of Hannah’s netted little fascinator hat.

Mia wasn’t sold on the fascinator’s bow and protruding feathers. A British event was really the only place to pull off that look.

“Whatever,” she said to Marnie, trying to mean it. But for a flash of a second she considered elbowing Theresa out of the way and diving into the lead sedan. But she could hear Alastair’s admonishing voice: Never let them know you care. You don’t.

“Ride with me?” she asked Marnie.

“You got it.”

The driver of the second car solemnly opened the back door for them. Marnie ducked in and slid across the seat to make room for Mia. She set her roomy tan leather tote bag in the middle.

The driver took his place up front, but they didn’t move, waiting for the rest of the procession to gather in their cars. Thankfully, the engine was running so they had air into the backseat.

“I just came from the courthouse.” Marnie said. “There were five lawyers there from Brettan LaCroix representing the Lafayette kids. They filed an injunction.”

“An injunction against what?” They’d already contested the will.

“Against you taking charge at Lafayette before the estate is settled,” Marnie said.

Mia turned to peer at Marnie in confusion. “That can’t work. How can that work? Who’ll run the company?”

“The vice presidents in a caretaker capacity—with Henry and Hannah right by their side.”

Mia thought back to the way Geraldine Putts’s gaze had slid away in the chapel. It all came clear.

“They know,” she said. “The vice presidents already know.”

“Some of them supported the injunction,” Marnie said.

The sedan pulled forward as Mia tried to make sense of the new information. “The vice presidents want Henry and Hannah to take charge?”

Alastair’s two children had empty titles, meaningless jobs. They’d never been involved in actually running the company.

“They definitely don’t want you in charge.”

“Why not?” Mia had worked side-by-side with Alastair for years.

Okay, sure, most people thought of her as merely a model and Alastair’s wife. But she’d been his trusted adviser. She knew the inner workings of the Lafayette Fashion company. She’d been involved in every significant decision. And, by the way, she owned it now.

Marnie gave Mia a pointed look. “You know you know the answer to that.”

Yes, Mia knew the answer. And it was colossally unfair. She wasn’t just a pretty face in an ad campaign. “Can we fight it?”

“The judge granted the injunction.”

“So, we lost? We already lost?”

This wasn’t what Alastair had wanted. He couldn’t have been any clearer in his final wishes. The company went to Mia. Hannah and Henry got jobs for life with generous perks. And Theresa . . . well, Theresa was on her own. Alastair had been clear about that too.

Marnie was looking down at her phone. “I’ll appeal, but this is going to get ugly.”

“It’s already ugly.” The tabloids and social media had not been kind to Mia.

“Uglier,” Marnie qualified. She went silent for