Page 19 of The Return of Her Billionaire Husband

In the end, Juliette decided to just show up at his villa, suspecting if she gave him the heads-up he might find a convenient excuse for not being there. She had heard via Damon that Joe was currently at his luxury villa high in the hills overlooking the Mediterranean ocean, so she was confident it wouldn’t be a wasted journey. Besides, she still had a key and, unless he had changed the locks, she would stay there until he returned even if it took a week or two. Those papers needed to be processed and they could only be processed if he signed them.

That was her goal.

Her mission.

Get a divorce. Get on with her life.

But, due to travel delays and her taxi taking several costly—and she thought deliberate—wrong turns, Juliette didn’t arrive until late in the evening. Which was deeply annoying, as she hadn’t planned on staying longer than the five or ten minutes it would take to get the papers signed. She dismissed the taxi, figuring she would call another one as soon as she was done and then go to the hotel she’d booked online before flying back to London tomorrow.

She was reassured that some lights were on in the villa and pressed the doorbell. No answer. She pressed it again. And again. Still no answer. There was a security camera at the front entrance, so she knew if Joe was inside he could see it was her. Why wasn’t he answering the door? And if he wasn’t home and one of the household staff was there, why weren’t they responding?

It was way too early for Joe to be in bed...although if he had someone with him... Juliette tried to ignore the sharp jab of pain that suddenly assailed her. He had to move on some time. He would definitely do so once their divorce was finalised.

Why was she getting upset about it? It was petty and immature of her. She was over him. She had to be.

There was no going back.

Juliette reached in her bag for her key and placed it in the lock, praying he hadn’t changed the alarm code, otherwise the security system would screech loud enough to hear in Naples. She opened the door and, wheeling in her overnight bag, stepped inside and closed the door softly behind her.

‘Hello?’ Her voice echoed through the marble foyer and somewhere further inside the villa she heard something fall over and then Joe’s deep voice letting out a filthy curse.

Juliette left her overnight bag at the front door and walked further into the villa. ‘Joe?’ She went to the smaller of the two sitting rooms, where she could see a pool of soft light shining from the door that was ajar. She pushed the door further open and saw Joe standing near the drink’s cabinet with a shot glass of spirits in his hand. The room was in disarray. The sofa scatter cushions were askew, one of them on the floor some distance away as if it had been thrown there. The air was stale as if the windows hadn’t been opened in days. Newspapers littered the floor and there was an empty pizza box with traces of topping—olives, capers, mushroom—stuck to the cardboard.

If Joe looked shocked to see her suddenly appear announced at his villa, he didn’t show it on his face. He simply raised the glass to his lips, tipped back his head and drained the contents, before wiping the back of his hand across his lips.

‘To what do I owe this honour?’ His tone was bitter, his eyes bloodshot, his hair tousled, his lean jaw shadowed with at least two days’ stubble. His shirt was creased and untucked from his trousers, giving him an unkempt look that was at odds with the man she knew. It was one of the things she secretly admired about him. He took care with his appearance. He wasn’t a junk food eater. He didn’t drink to excess. He was careful about over-indulging. Unlike her ex, whose idea of a gourmet meal was a deluxe burger at a fast food chain. And who had embarrassed her on more than one occasion by drinking too much and acting inappropriately.

Like she could talk after all the champagne she’d drunk at Lucy and Damon’s wedding, but still...

Juliette frowned, shocked to find Joe in such a state. ‘Are you...drunk?’

He gave a twisted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘No, but it sounds like fun. Want to join me?’ He placed his glass down on the drinks cabinet and reached for the bottle of spirits.

She dropped her tote bag on a nearby chair and came further into the room, stepping over the pizza box and a collection of newspapers. ‘I’m not here to party, Joe.’ She injected her tone with as much gravity as she could even though it made her sound like the fun police.

He poured a measure of spirits into the glass and she was relieved to see it was only a few millimetres, not centimetres. ‘Want one?’ He held the glass out to her with a daredevil light in his dark eyes.

‘No, thank you.’

‘I can open some champagne for you.’ His smile had a hint of cruelty about it. ‘We could get drunk together and see what happens.’

Juliette pressed her lips together as if she were channelling a starchy schoolmistress. ‘That won’t be necessary. I don’t have anything to celebrate.’

The glint in his gaze hardened to flint. ‘Not even my birthday?’

Juliette stared at him for a stunned moment. How could she not have realised? She had never actually celebrated his birthday with him as they hadn’t been married long enough. She’d seen it on his passport, though—April the fifth.

But wait... That date rang another bell...

What twist of fate had her coming to visit him on the exact date they’d first met? ‘I didn’t realise until now—we met for the first time on this day. But I thought you said it was the anniversary of your mother’s death?’

‘Sì.’ His expression was masked. Stony, cold, emotionless—all except for a shadow lurking at the back of his gaze.

She frowned as she tried to join the dots. ‘Your mother died on your birthday?’

He put the shot glass down with an audible thud. ‘Sì.’

Her throat was so clogged it felt as if she’d swallowed one of the scatter cushions. ‘How old were you?’ Her voice quavered with emotion, imagining him as a young child dealing with the loss of his mother. Why hadn’t he told her when they were together? Why had he kept such important information about himself a secret? And why hadn’t she delved a little more deeply—tried to get to know him better? They hadn’t been married long and they hadn’t married for the usual reasons, but that didn’t absolve her. She hadn’t taken the time to understand him, to uncover the enigmatic layers of his personality.

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