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.
‘Thirty-three minutes.’ His tone was flat but his eyes were haunted. Black, brooding, bleak.
Juliette’s mouth fell open and her heart slipped from its moorings. ‘Thirty...? Oh, Joe, you mean she died having you?’
He turned away to put the lid back on the bottle of spirits, a frown pulling at his forehead. ‘It’s why I try to ignore my birthday. There’s nothing to celebrate in knowing your birth was responsible for someone’s death.’
Juliette came over to him and touched him on the arm to get him to face her. ‘I can understand how you, or anyone, would feel like that. But you mustn’t blame yourself. It could have been a medical error or—’ Even as she said the words, she realised how unfairly she had blamed him for their baby’s stillbirth. Guilt was a heavy stone in her belly—crushing, punishing guilt.
He removed her hand from his arm. ‘Look, I know you mean well but I’d rather not talk about it right now.’ He rubbed a hand down his face, the rasping sound against his stubble loud in the silence. He let out a long breath and added, ‘Why are you here? Have you changed your mind about Paris? It’s next weekend. Don’t forget—no divorce without it.’
The divorce papers could wait. Handing them to him on his birthday seemed a bit crass, considering the circumstances. Besides, her feelings of remorse were so overwhelming she didn’t want to do anything she would regret later. She had enough regrets. As for Paris... Would it hurt her to go with him? Maybe it would help both of them find some measure of peace going forward.
‘I’m not just here about the divorce. I wanted to come anyway...for another reason.’
Joe took a bottle of water out of the bar fridge and unscrewed the cap, his gaze watchful. ‘Which is?’
‘Erm...research for my next book.’ It was a lie but she could make it true by doing a few sketches while she was here. That was if he hadn’t thrown out her art materials. She had taken virtually nothing with her when she’d left. And he hadn’t sent any of her things on to her. She couldn’t possibly leave him tonight, not on his birthday. At first, she’d thought he was properly drunk, but she realised now he was in a brooding mood and tired. As if he hadn’t slept in weeks. And he looked like he’d lost weight—his cheeks were hollow and fine lines ran down either side of his mouth.
He moved past her and sat on one of the sofas, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He took a couple of mouthfuls of water, his gaze tracking back to her as if he couldn’t help himself. ‘How long do you plan to stay in Italy?’
Juliette sat on the opposite sofa and placed her hands on her thighs. ‘I haven’t
decided. I thought I’d see how I go... It’s been a while since I’ve drawn anything—I might not be able to do it any more...’
Joe took another mouthful of water and then his gaze locked back on hers. ‘Where are you staying?’ There was a guarded note in his tone.
‘I booked a small hotel down near Fornillo Beach.’
His jaw worked for a moment. ‘Are you with anyone?’
‘No.’
Silence ticked past.
Juliette tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear for something to do with her hands. She felt restless and on edge, uncertain of how to behave around him. Way too tempted to behave in ways that would make a mockery of the legal document in her overnight bag, still on the floor in the foyer. She wished she had the courage to walk behind the sofa where he was seated and massage his tense neck and shoulders like she used to do.
Joe leaned his head back against the sofa cushions and closed his eyes. ‘I’ll let you see yourself out.’
She was being dismissed.
A wall had come up and she was on the wrong side of it. But something kept her seated on the sofa, something kept her gaze focused on the lines and planes of his face, something breathed life into a dead place deep inside her heart. Juliette felt the stirring in her chest, the slow unfurling of closed wings, the gentle flap of hope coming to life. Hope that their relationship might not be in its last throes but had the potential to rise again.
But better this time.
She hadn’t taken the time to get to know him in the past. Her shock pregnancy had propelled them too fast into marriage without the appropriate getting-to-know-you lead-up. And the devastation of losing their baby had blinded her to the things that had worked well in their relationship. Could they possibly build on those things?
‘Joe?’
He cracked open one eye. ‘What?’ His one word, somewhat sharp reply wasn’t encouraging but Juliette was starting to realise he was probably feeling uncomfortable with her seeing him in less than ideal circumstances. He felt vulnerable and unguarded and for such a control captain that was anathema.
Juliette glanced in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Do you mind if I make myself a cup of tea?’
‘Go for it.’
‘Do you want one?’
One side of his mouth tilted in a bad boy smile. ‘I’m not ready to be a teetotaller.’
‘I know you’re not drunk. You’re only pretending to be.’
He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and lowered his head into his hands. ‘I didn’t ask you to come here. I’d rather not have an audience right now.’ The keep away quality in his tone didn’t daunt her. Not now she knew how vulnerable and exposed he felt.
Juliette came over and perched on the arm of the sofa next to him. She raised her hand and began stroking her fingers through the thick strands of his black wavy hair. He gave a low deep groan but didn’t push her hand away. Every now and again her fingers would catch on a knot in his hair and she gently untangled it.
After a while, he raised his head from his hands and looked at her with his pitch-black eyes and something slipped sideways in her stomach. ‘You should have left five minutes ago.’ His voice was so rough it made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle.
Juliette idly ran her finger down the slope of his nose. ‘Why should I?’
He grasped her wrist with the steel bracelet of his fingers and her heart gave an excited leap. His fingers were warm, the tensile strength an erotic reminder of other parts of his body that were hot and strong and potent. ‘Because I might not let you go.’
Was it the whisky talking? Or was he expressing feelings he had hidden from her in the past?
Juliette used her free hand to stroke his richly stubbled jaw. ‘Joe...why didn’t you tell me about your mother when we got married? You barely told me anything about yourself. And when I fished for information, you would shut me down or distract me with something else. Or disappear for days on end with work commitments.’
His gaze shifted from hers to stare at her wrist in his grasp on his lap. His other hand came over the top of her captured hand and his index finger traced each of the tendons on the back of her hand. ‘There wasn’t much to tell. My birth caused my mother’s death and my father did his best to raise me but her death was a dark cloud over our relationship.’
‘Do you mean he blamed you?’
He gave a lopsided twist of his mouth that wasn’t anywhere near a smile. ‘Not in so many words. But every year on my birthday since I was old enough to remember, he would take me to the cemetery and make me tidy her grave and put flowers there. I hated going. I found it creepy, to be honest. I put my foot down when I was fifteen and said I wasn’t going again. And I haven’t. Not once.’
Juliette’s heart contracted. She could picture him as a small toddler, not quite understanding why he had to perform such a morbid duty. And then in the years while he was growing up, still being forced to confront the reality of his mother’s death and his innocent part in it. So many pennies were dropping in her head she was surprised Joe couldn’t hear the loud tinkling. Was that why he had been so distant and aloof at their baby’s funeral? He had been almost robotic, hardly saying anything to anyone, not showing any emotion and not comforting Juliette in the way she had needed. Was that why he had never visited their baby’s grave? And during Juliette’s pregnancy, the further along it went, he had retreated into himself, closed off, distanced himself. Had he been terrified all along that the same thing could happen to her that happened to his mother?
‘Oh, Joe...’ Tears stung her eyes and she turned her hand over in his and gripped him tightly. ‘I wish I’d known. How terrible that must have been for you as a small child.’
Joe released her hand and rose from the sofa, moving to the other side of the room with his back towards her. ‘Why are you really here, Juliette?’ His tone had a cold razor-sharp edge. Accusing, cutting, callous.
Juliette swept her tongue over her carpet-dry lips. ‘I told you—I’m doing some research for—’
He swung around to face her with a brooding expression. ‘You’re a terrible liar.’ He moved across the room and rummaged amongst some things on the small table near a pile of books. He picked up a pen. ‘Got the divorce papers with you?’ He clicked the pen open and smiled a savage smile. ‘Where do I sign?’
Juliette rose from the sofa and hugged her arms around her middle. ‘It’s a really dumb idea to sign legal documents when you’ve been drinking even a small amount of alcohol. I think we should talk about this some other time.’
He clicked the pen on and off several times and she got the feeling it was his way of counting to ten to control his simmering anger. After a moment, he tossed the pen aside and walked past her out of the room, throwing over his shoulder, ‘I’ll let you see yourself out. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten the way.’
Juliette closed her eyes against the sting of his parting words. But there was one thing she was certain of—no way was she leaving tonight. Not until they had chance to talk about things they should have talked about months ago.
* * *
Joe had enough trouble resisting Juliette when he was stone cold sober and even though he had only had a couple of shot glasses of whisky he knew it was wise to keep his distance. He was disgusted with himself for indulging in a pity party on his birthday. He mostly tried to ignore the date but this year had brought it all back. The anniversary of the day he’d met Juliette. The amazing night of hot sex he hadn’t been able to forget. The amazing night that for once had made him forget what day it was. The amazing night that had cumulated in a pregnancy. A doomed pregnancy, because that was the sort of stuff that happened to him, right? He had a poisonous touch and it was no good thinking it was going to change any time soon. If ever.
He knew why Juliette was here. Those wretched divorce papers. He couldn’t put off sign
ing them for ever. English law stated a couple married in England could be granted a no-fault divorce after two years of separation. They had now been separated for sixteen months.
In another eight months they would both be free.
No-fault? Of course there was someone to blame.
Him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JULIETTE WAITED DOWNSTAIRS until she was sure Joe had taken himself to bed. She went back out to the foyer and carried her overnight bag rather than wheel it, so as not to disturb him. There were several spare bedrooms on the second floor to choose from. The master bedroom door was closed and in darkness, so she assumed Joe had settled down for the night. She toyed with the idea of checking on him but decided it was best to leave him to sleep off his devil-may-care mood. She didn’t trust herself around him, especially when he was in such a reckless state of mind. Besides, re-entering the room they had shared during their short marriage would test her in ways she wasn’t sure she could handle. Too many images came to mind of her being in that bed with him, her legs entangled with his, her body responding to his surging thrusts with wanton abandon.
She suppressed a delicate shudder and continued on her way to one of the rooms further along the wide carpeted corridor until she came to the closed door of the nursery. She stopped outside, unable to take another step. It was as if a thick glass wall had sprung up in front of her and she could go no further until she glimpsed her baby’s room—to see if it was as she had left it.
She had decorated the nursery herself, spending hours in there painting a frieze for the walls, making a mobile for the cot, placing soft toys on the floating shelves she had designed and got made specially. She’d chosen the pink fabric for the curtains with fairies and unicorns on it and made them herself. Every stitch, every brushstroke, every item had been placed there with love. Love for her baby.
The Return of Her Billionaire Husband Page 8
