Still, Grant would need to pull her into his orbit now. She was highly skilled at persuasion, which meant she could be a strong ally in helping him deal with Miranda and Astrid. But would she stay on his side? That was a big question. Certainly Tara had loved Johnathon immensely and would want Sterling Enterprises to continue on in his name. But no one could have guessed that the succession plan Johnathon had put in place came with a caveat—one that stripped Grant of control. And now he had to get it back.
The congregants stood as the service came to an end, and Grant excused himself to step out into the aisle as one of six pallbearers. The other five were all employees of Sterling Enterprises, including Clay, Miranda’s brother. Separating Johnathon and the business was impossible. They were coiled tightly around each other. Noticeable in his absence was Johnathon’s only living family, his younger brother Andrew. Grant had hoped that Johnathon’s death would be enough to make Andrew show up. But some rifts ran too deep.
As Grant lifted the casket with the other men, it was impossible to ignore the great weight that now sat on his shoulders. He had to be there for Miranda and the child who would never know their father. He had to care for Sterling Enterprises and keep the company flourishing. He must also be certain that Astrid had the support she needed to get through this difficult time. And he would have been lying if he said he didn’t want the chance to be Tara’s shoulder to cry on.
The other day at the hospital had only served as a strong reminder that his attraction to her had never gone away. Anything romantic between himself and Tara never would have happened when Johnathon was still walking the earth, but things were different now. Everything had changed. And it was time for Grant to be one of the rare few to move beyond the specter of Johnathon Sterling. Certainly in business. And quite possibly in the personal realm, as well.
Tara dutifully filed behind the other wives as Johnathon was carried from the church. Miranda was first to follow the casket, trailed by Astrid. Each was racked with sorrow, Miranda quietly weeping and Astrid so overcome she struggled to walk. The four-inch heels certainly weren’t helping. Tara’s place in the processional was last, the farthest removed from her ex. In that moment, she felt it was her job to keep it together. She would speak for all three wives by offering polite nods for the throng of guests wishing to share their condolences. The sea of acquaintances, close friends and perfect strangers said over and over again that they were sorry for her loss. It didn’t make it any more real. Tara could hardly believe that Johnathon was dead. She kept expecting him to step out from behind a pillar and declare that it was all a joke.
Tara knew that coming to terms with this loss would not be easy. She must finally face the mix of good and bad feelings about Johnathon, everything she’d avoided reckoning with when they’d divorced. She was deeply saddened by this realization; it left a hole in her psyche, but she couldn’t bring herself to shed more than a few tears right now. It didn’t matter that this was the time to let it all out. She’d first learned it wasn’t in her best interest to show her emotions when kids at school teased her for still crying months after her mother had died. Johnathon had taught her to be tough, as well. Not in words, so much as his actions. He could be sweet when she was down, but he adored strong, upbeat Tara, showering her with affection. Being strong got her what she wanted.
A ribbon of relief zipped through her when she finally stepped out into the blazing sun of the July day. It was a gorgeous summer day, in the midseventies with a light breeze. She was dying to get back to her house across the bay in Coronado, take off her heels and maybe go for a walk on the beach. Clear her head. Begin the process of moving on. But she couldn’t leave without speaking to the other two wives.
“Miranda,” Tara said, catching up with Johnathon’s widow. “How are you doing? Is there anything I can help you with? Anything I can do?”
Miranda turned, hiding behind a dark pair of Jackie O sunglasses. Her ebony hair was back in an elegant twist, but the streaks of mascara on her cheeks showed the evidence of her grief. “How am I doing? My husband is dead.” She hugged her Louis Vuitton handbag to her side like a life preserver.
Tara was a little taken aback by the response. She and Miranda had a friendship outside the fact that they’d fallen for the same man. “No. I know. Today is incredibly hard. I shouldn’t have asked. It was stupid of me. I’m sorry.”
Miranda’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “No. I’m sorry. I’m a mess.” She shot a quick glance over each shoulder, then pulled Tara closer. “I’m a big ball of hormones. I can’t even begin to process the idea of raising this child on my own,” she whispered.
“I take it you haven’t told anyone.”
“My brother Clay knows. You. Grant. A few of my close girlfriends. That’s it. I don’t want anyone else to know. Not yet. It’s too much to deal with. And I really don’t want Astrid to find out before she’s back in Norway. Johnathon told me how hard they tried to have a baby. Plus, apparently, Johnathon didn’t have the guts to tell her that I even existed, so there’s that to deal
