The Return Of Her Billionaire Husband

Their marriage was lost...

But then he walked back into her life!

Juliette is determined to forget her short-lived marriage to Italian tycoon Joe Allegranza. It began with an intense passion she’d only ever dreamed of, and ended in heartbreak. Now it’s time to go their separate ways...or is it?

Because reunited at a lavish wedding, Juliette is unable to hide from their desire, or the realization of how little she knew her husband. Drawn together by their connection, she’s torn: rekindling their spark could spell disaster, or it could make them stronger than before...

MELANIE MILBURNE read her first Mills & Boon novel at the age of seventeen, in between studying for her final exams. After completing a master’s degree in education, she decided to write a novel, and thus her career as a romance author was born. Melanie is an ambassador for the Australian Childhood Foundation and a keen dog-lover and trainer. She enjoys long walks in the Tasmanian bush. In 2015 Melanie won the HOLT Medallion, a prestigious award honouring outstanding literary talent.

Also by Melanie Milburne

The Temporary Mrs Marchetti

Wedding Night with Her Enemy

A Ring for the Greek’s Baby

The Tycoon’s Marriage Deal

A Virgin for a Vow

Blackmailed into the Marriage Bed

Tycoon’s Forbidden Cinderella

Bound by a One-Night Vow

Penniless Virgin to Sicilian’s Bride

Cinderella’s Scandalous Secret

Billionaire’s Wife on Paper

The Scandal Before the Wedding miniseries

Claimed for the Billionaire’s Convenience

The Venetian One-Night Baby

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

The Return of Her Billionaire Husband

Melanie Milburne

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09800-7

THE RETURN OF HER BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND

© 2020 Melanie Milburne

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Note to Readers

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To all the parents who have lost a baby at birth. Your journey through grief is unimaginably painful and long-lasting. My thoughts are with you. xx

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WAS A weird kind of irony in arriving as maid of honour for your best friend’s destination wedding with divorce papers in your hand luggage. But the one thing Juliette was determined not to do was spoil Lucy and Damon’s wedding day. Well, not just a wedding day but a wedding weekend. On Corfu.

And her estranged husband was the best man.

Juliette sucked in a prickly breath and tried not to think of the last time she’d stood at an altar next to Joe Allegranza. Tried not to think of the blink-and-you’d-miss-it ceremony in the English village church in front of a handful of witnesses with her pregnancy not quite hidden by her mother’s vintage wedding dress. The dress that scratched and itched the whole time she was wearing it. She tried not to think of the expression of disappointment on her parents’ faces that their only daughter was marrying a virtual stranger after she got pregnant on a one-night stand.

Tried not to think of her baby—the baby girl who didn’t even get to take a single breath...

Juliette stepped down out of the shuttle bus and walked into the foyer of the luxury private villa at Barbati Beach. The scarily efficient wedding planner, Celeste Petrakis, had organised for the wedding party to stay at the villa so the rehearsal and other activities planned would run as smoothly and seamlessly as possible. Juliette had thought about asking to stay at another hotel close by, as she didn’t fancy running into Joe more than was strictly necessary. Socialising politely with her soon-to-be ex-husband over breakfast, lunch and dinner wasn’t exactly in her skill set. But the thought of upsetting the drill sergeant wedding planner’s meticulous arrangements was as intimidating as a cadet saying they weren’t going to march in line on parade. Juliette had even at one point thought of declining the honour of being Lucy’s maid of honour, but that would have made everyone think she wasn’t over Joe.

She most definitely was over him—hence the divorce papers.

‘Welcome.’ The smartly dressed female attendant greeted her with a smile bright enough for an orthodontist’s website homepage. ‘May I have your name, please?’

‘Bancroft...erm... I mean Allegranza.’ Juliette wished now she had got around to officially changing back to her maiden name. Why hadn’t she? She still didn’t understand why she’d taken Joe’s name in the first place. Their marriage hadn’t come about the normal way. No dating, no courtship, no professions of love. No romantic proposal. Just one night of bed-wrecking sex and then goodbye and thanks for the memories. They hadn’t even exchanged phone numbers. By the time she’d worked up the courage to track Joe down and tell him she was pregnant, he had insisted—not proposed, insisted—on marrying her soon after. They’d only lived together as man and wife for a total of three months. Three months of marriage and then it was over—just like her pregnancy.

But once Joe signed the papers and the divorce was finalised she would be free of his name. Free to move on with her life, because being stuck in limbo sucked. How would she ever be able to get through the grieving process without drawing a thick black line through her time with Joe?

She. Had. To. Move. On.

The receptionist click-clacked on the computer keyboard. ‘Here it is. J Allegranza. And the J is for...?’

‘Juliette.’ She wondered if it would be pedantic to insist on being addressed by her maiden name while she was here but decided against saying anything. But why hadn’t Lucy told the wedding planner she and Joe were separated? Or were Lucy and Damon still hoping she and Joe would somehow miraculously get back together?

Not flipping likely. They shouldn’t have been together in the first place.

If her childhood sweetheart, Harvey, hadn’t taken it upon himself to dump her instead of proposing to her, like she’d been expecting, none of this would have happened. Rebound sex with a handsome stranger. Who would have thought she had it in her? She wasn’t the type of girl to talk to staggeringly gorgeous men in swanky London bars. She wasn’t a one-night stand girl. But that night she had turned into someone else. Joe’s touch had turned her into someone else.

Note to self. Do not think about Joe’s touch. Do. Not. Go. There.

There was not going to be a fairy tale ending to their short-lived relationship. How could there be when the only reason for their marriage was now gone?

Dead. Buried. Lying, sleeping for ever, in a tiny white coffin in a graveyard in England.

‘Your suite is ready for you now,’ the receptionist said. ‘Spiros will bring your luggage in from the shuttle.’

‘Thank you.’

The receptionist handed her a swipe key and directed her to the lifts across the hectare of marble floor. ‘Your suite is on the third floor. Celeste, the wedding planner, will meet with the bridal party for drinks on the terrace, to go through the rehearsal and wedding timetable, promptly at six this evening.’

‘Got it.’ Juliette gave a polite movement of her lips, which was about as close to a smile as she got to these days. She took the key, hitched her tote bag over her shoulder and made her way over to the lifts. The divorce papers were poking out of the top of her bag, a reminder of her two-birds-one-stone mission. In seven days, this chapter of her life would finally be over.

And she would never have to think about Joe Allegranza again.

There was only one thing Joe Allegranza hated more than weddings and that was funerals. Oh, and birthdays—his, in particular. But he could hardly turn down being his mate’s best man, even if it meant coming face to face with his estranged wife, Juliette.

His wife...

Hard to believe how those two words still had the power to gouge a hole in his chest—a raw gaping hole that nothing could fill. He couldn’t think of her without feeling he had failed in every way possible. How had he let his life spin out of control so badly? He, who had written the handbook on control.

Mostly, he could block her from his mind. Mostly. He binged on work like some people did on alcohol or food. He had built his global engineering career on his ability to fix structural failures. To forensically analyse broken bridges and buildings, and yet he was unable to do anything to repair his broken marriage. Fifteen months of separation and he hadn’t moved forward with his life. Couldn’t move on with his life. It was as if an invisible wall had sprung up in front of him, keeping him cordoned off, blocked, imprisoned.

He glanced at the wedding ring still on his finger. He could easily have taken it off and locked it in the safe, along with Juliette’s rings that she had left behind.

But he hadn’t.

He wasn’t entirely sure why. Divorce was something he rigorously avoided thinking about. Reconciliation was equally as daunting. He was stuck in no man’s land.

Joe walked into the reception area of the luxury villa where the wedding party were staying and was greeted by a smiling attendant. ‘Welcome. May I have your name, please?’

‘Joe Allegranza.’ He removed his sunglasses and slipped them into his breast pocket. ‘The wedding planner made the booking.’

The reception attendant peered a little closer at the screen, scrolling through the bookings with her computer mouse. ‘Ah, yes, I see it now. I missed it because I thought the booking was only for one person.’ She flashed him a smile so bright he wished he hadn’t taken his sunglasses off. ‘Your wife has already checked in. She arrived an hour ago.’

His wife. A weight pressed down on Joe’s chest and his next breath was razor-edged. His failure could just as easily be substituted for those words. Hadn’t the wedding planner got the memo about his and Juliette’s separation?

The thought slipped through a crack in his mind like a fissure in bedrock, threatening to destabilise his determination to keep his distance.

A weekend sharing a suite with his estranged wife.

For a second or two he considered pointing out the booking error but he let his mind wander first... He could see Juliette again. In private. In person. He would be able to talk to her face to face instead of having her refuse to answer his calls or delete or block his texts or emails. She hadn’t responded to a single missive. Not one. The last time he’d called her to tell her about the fundraising he’d organised for a stillbirth foundation on their behalf, the service provider informed him the number was no longer connected. Meaning Juliette was no longer connected to him.

His conscience woke up and prodded him with a jabbing finger.

What the hell are you thinking? Haven’t you done enough damage?

It was crazy enough coming here for the wedding, much less spend time with Juliette—especially alone. He had ruined her life, just like he had done to his mother. Was there a curse on him when it came to his relationships? A curse that had been placed on him the day he was born. The same day his mother had died. His birthday: his mother’s death day.

If that wasn’t a curse, then what the freaking hell was?

Joe cleared his throat. ‘There must be some mistake. My...er...wife and I are no longer together. We’re...separated.’ He hated saying the ugly word. Hated admitting his failure. Hated knowing it was largely his fault his wife had walked out on their marriage.

The receptionist’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. ‘Oh, no—I mean, that’s terrible about your separation. Also, about the booking, because we don’t have any other rooms and—’

‘It’s fine,’ Joe said, pulling out his phone. ‘I’ll book in somewhere else.’ He began to scroll through the options on his server. There had to be plenty of hotels available. He would sleep on a park bench or on the beach if he had to. No way was he sharing a room with his estranged wife. Too dangerous. Too tempting. Too everything.

‘I don’t think you’ll find too much available,’ the receptionist said. ‘There’s several weddings on this part of Corfu this weekend and, besides, Celeste really wanted everyone to stay close by to give the wedding a family feel. She’ll be gutted to find out she’s made a mistake with your booking. She’s worked so hard to make her cousin’s wedding truly special.’

Joe’s memory snagged on something Damon had told him about his young cousin, Celeste. How this wedding planning gig for her older cousin was her first foray into the workforce after a long battle with some type of blood cancer. Leukaemia? Non-Hodgkin’s? He couldn’t remember which, but he didn’t want to be the one to rain on Celeste’s first parade.

‘Okay, so don’t tell Celeste until I make sure I can’t find accommodation. I’ll do a ring around and see what I find.’

He fixed problems, right? That was his speciality—fixing things that no one else could fix.

And he would fix this or die trying.

Joe stepped back out into the sunshine and spent close to an hour getting more and more frustrated when there was no vacancy anywhere. Beads of sweat poured down the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades. He even for a moment considered making an offer to buy a property rather than face the alternative of sharing a room with his estranged wife. He certainly had enough money to buy whatever he wanted.

Except happiness.

Except peace of mind.

Except life for his baby girl...

His phone was almost out of charge when he finally conceded defeat. There was nothing available close by or within a reasonable radius. Fate or destiny or a seriously manipulative deity had decided Joe was sharing a room with Juliette.

But maybe it was time to do something about his marriage. Keeping his distance hadn’t solved anything. Maybe this was a chance to see if there was anything he could say or do to bring a resolution to their situation. Closure.

Joe walked back into Reception and the young receptionist gave him an I-told-you-so smile. ‘No luck?’ she said.

‘Nope.’ Luck and Joe were not close friends. Never had been. Enemies, more like.

‘Here’s your key.’ The receptionist handed it over the counter. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay.’

‘Thank you.’ Joe took the key and made his way to the lift. Enjoy his stay? Like that was going to happen. He’d been dreading seeing Juliette again, knowing he was largely responsible for her pain, her sorrow, her devastation. But at least this way, in the privacy of ‘their’ suite, he would be able to speak to her without an audience. He would say what needed to be said, work out the way forward—if there was a way forward—and then they could both move on with their lives.

CHAPTER TWO

JULIETTE HAD A refreshing shower and was dressed in a luxurious bathrobe with her hair in a towel turban. The bespoke bathrobe—apparently all the wedding party had them—had her initials embroidered over her right breast—JA. Which was a pity because the bathrobe was absolutely divine and she hated the thought of tossing it in a charity bin. But maybe, once she got home, she could unpick the embroidery and embroider JB instead.

The wedding planner had certainly pulled all the stops out. There were handmade chocolates with the bride and groom’s names on them by the bedside, plus spring water bottles labelled with a photo of the happy couple. It was hard to look at her friend’s blissfully happy smile in that photo and not feel insanely jealous.

Why couldn’t she have found a man to love her like Damon loved Lucy?

Juliette had thought her ex, Harvey, had loved her. How could she have been so blind for so long? Harvey had said the three little words so often and yet they had meant nothing.

She had meant nothing.

And Joe hadn’t loved her either, but at least he hadn’t lied to her about it. Their relationship hadn’t been a love match but a convenient solution to the problem of her accidental pregnancy. A duty marriage. A loveless arrangement to provide a secure home and future for their child. She had known it from the start and still married him because she couldn’t bear to face the disappointment on her parents’ faces. The disappointment she had seen throughout her life—every school report, every exam result, every time she failed to gain their approval. Every time she failed to live up to the standards set by her exceptionally talented, high achieving older brothers. And her parents, with their multiple university degrees. Even her very existence had been a mistake. She was a mid-life baby born to older parents who thought their childrearing days were over. And they were over, so they’d outsourced the rearing of Juliette to a variety of nannies.

Juliette placed her hand on the flat plane of her abdomen, her heart squeezing as she thought of the precious life she had nurtured there for seven months. Her baby might have been an accident but no way would she ever think of Emilia as a mistake. Oh, God, she shouldn’t say her name, even in her head. It brought her so much pain, so much anguish to think of Emilia’s tiny little crinkled face, her tiny wrinkled legs and arms. Little arms that would never reach up to her to hold...

Juliette turned to the task at hand, determined to keep control of her emotions. She was moving on, processing the grief the best way she could. Part of that process was getting through this weekend and handing over the divorce papers to Joe.

She was still deciding which dress to wear to the drinks and rehearsal and had her choices laid out on the bed. The very big bed with cloud-soft pillows and gazillion thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. It was similar to the bed she and Joe had spent that one-night stand in, having off-the-Richter-scale sex.

A night she couldn’t erase from her brain or her body.

She swung away from the bed and snatched up her make-up bag from her open suitcase. She needed armour and not just the cosmetic sort. She needed anger armour. Anger was her friend now. Her constant companion. It simmered and smouldered deep in her chest like lava inside a grumbling volcano. Anger was her way of punching through the blanket of despair that had almost smothered her after losing the baby seven months into the pregnancy. A despair so deep and thick it had taken every particle of light out of her life. Happiness was something other people experienced. Not her. Not now. Not ever. A part of her was missing.

Broken. Shattered.

And all the King’s horses and all the King’s men were not going to be able to put her back together again.

Juliette was on her way to the bathroom off the bedroom to do her make-up when she heard a brisk knock on the door of the suite. Thinking it was a waiter bringing the pot of tea she had ordered a short time ago, she called out, ‘Come in. Just leave it on the table, thanks.’ And went into the bathroom and closed the door.

She heard the suite door open and the rattle of a tea cup and saucer as presumably the tea trolley was wheeled in. Then the door closed again with a firm click.

Should she have given the waiter a tip? Probably not while she was dressed in a bathrobe, even if it was the most deliciously soft fabric she had ever worn against her skin. Not that she had too much spare cash lying around for tips. She refused on principle to touch the obscenely excessive amount of money Joe put in her bank account every month. Guilt money? No. Those were relief funds. His relief. He hadn’t got there in time for the birth, but when he came in half an hour later she hadn’t seen a father grieving for his stillborn baby girl. She had seen relief washing over his features. She had seen a man who was relieved his sham of a marriage now had an excuse to end.

Their baby had died and so had any hope of them remaining together.

They were a mismatch from the start. Hadn’t she always known that on some level? He was suave and sophisticated and super intelligent. A self-made man who answered to no one but himself. His cool aloofness had drawn her like a moth to a dangerously hot flame.

And it had burned her in the end. Even after three months living together as man and wife, he had always kept an emotional distance, which had reinforced every fear she harboured about herself. It mirrored the emotional distance she’d experienced from her parents while she was growing up. The sense she wasn’t enough for them—not clever enough, not pretty enough. She always felt they were holding back, keeping her to one side, compartmentalising her.