Chapter 4: Her Own Funeral

Preston held my funeral three days later.

There was no body, so there was a white casket full of flowers.

He chose a cemetery on a cliff above the ocean, with a view for the cameras.

I stood at the back under a black veil and a borrowed coat, with Jasper's arm under mine.

"Walk slowly," he said quietly. "You're an old friend. You came from out of town."

"I'm a very good friend," I said. "I'm also the one in the box."

"Don't say that where people can hear."

About two hundred people stood on the grass.

I saw buyers, gossip writers, a rack of photographers behind a rope, and the editor from the magazine who had been at the gala.

She had her hands folded and her eyes on the casket.

Preston stood at the front in a black suit, with his head bowed.

Lydia stood beside him.

She was wearing Lifeline.

The rose diamonds lay across her collarbone in my heartbeat line, bright in the gray light.

"She is wearing it to my funeral," I whispered.

"Hold still," Jasper said.

My hands had closed so tight that my nails were cutting my palms.

Preston stepped up to the casket and took a folded page from his pocket.

"Imogen worked for me for five years," he said. "She was quiet. She was loyal. I did not see how much she was hiding."

His voice broke on the last word.

A woman near me sniffed into a tissue.

"I loved her like family," Preston said. "I wish I had known she was in pain."

I did not move.

I listened to a man who had put his hand on my back every day for five years describe me as a quiet assistant.

Keep reading free with an account. Start He Chose Her, So I Faked My Death from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.