The Return Of Her Billionaire Husband / Revelations Of A Secret Princess

Juliette stood to one side of Lucy and Damon as they exchanged their vows. Both had tears shining in their eyes, their love for each other plain to see. She glanced at Joe to find his gaze trained on her, his expression grave. She bit her lip and looked away again, her heart feeling as if squeezed by an invisible hand.

Maybe she had judged Joe too quickly. Hadn’t her parents always complained about her impulsive nature? Her tendency to act first, ask questions later had often caused her to regret her actions in hindsight. She had not only not asked Joe the questions, she hadn’t even allowed him to contact her. She had blocked him at every turn.

It was excruciatingly painful to confront her role in the breakup of their relationship. Would she be making a huge mistake in pursuing a divorce? But how could their marriage continue if Joe didn’t love her?

The newly married couple kissed and the guests clapped and cheered and again Juliette was reminded of the brief kiss Joe had given her at their wedding, and the less than enthusiastic applause from the handful of guests, her parents in particular.

After Lucy and Damon’s official photos were taken further along on the beach, the mostly informal and relaxed reception was held in the villa’s ballroom overlooking the beach.

Juliette got up to dance with three of the other groomsmen to avoid dancing with Joe. She was worried she would betray herself in his arms, reveal things about herself she knew she shouldn’t be feeling while she had divorce papers to hand to him. Dance after dance, drink after drink, she worked the room as if she had graduated as star pupil at Social Butterfly school. But inside she was shrivelling up, struggling to cope with pretending to be happy. One of the guests—another cousin of Damon’s—was heavily pregnant and every time Juliette looked at her she felt a hammer-blow of sadness crash over her.

Juliette took yet another glass of champagne off a passing waiter and turned to find Joe standing beside her.

‘Is that a good idea?’ He nodded towards her glass, his expression brooding.

She arched her brows. ‘Since when did you join the Temperance Society?’

He took the glass out of her hand and placed it on a nearby table. ‘I think you’ve had enough.’

‘I think you need to back off,’ Juliette said, glowering at him. ‘Just because you’re not having a good time doesn’t mean I can’t.’

‘Are you having a good time?’ His gaze was as pointed as his tone. But then he released a heavy breath and added with a frown, ‘You’re pretending, just like I am. But doing a much better job of it than me.’

Some of Juliette’s anger faded. She couldn’t explain why—it just slumped inside her like a windless sail. ‘It’s a form of torture, isn’t it? Watching other people being happy.’

‘Sì.’

Juliette tried to read his expression but it was like trying to read a cryptic code. Or maybe it was because her head was starting to pound from all the champagne she’d consumed. Or maybe it was because she knew she was getting closer to the moment when she would hand Joe the divorce papers. She couldn’t allow her defences to let her down now. She had come on a mission to get those papers signed. One kiss did not a reconciliation make. She pinched the bridge of her nose and winced. ‘I think I need to go to bed. Do you think Lucy and Damon would be offended if I slipped away now before they leave?’

Joe glanced to where the happy couple were dancing cheek to cheek. ‘No. I don’t think they’ll mind. Come on—’ he held out his hand ‘—I’ll walk you back to our room.’

Joe led Juliette back to their room. Their room. One last night suffering the torture of having her close enough to touch. Close enough to remember the potent magic that brought them together in the first place. Close enough to regret how he had handled every step, every stage of their relationship. Close enough to wonder if there was a chance—a slim chance—she would consider trying again.

The idea crept into his head and looked around for a place to get comfortable, pushing his conscience, his fears, his doubts out of the way. He wasn’t imagining the chemistry still between them, was he? It was as strong and pulsing as ever. Their kiss had proven how strong their connection still was.

How could he forgive himself for not at least exploring the possibility of reconciling?

Joe closed the door of their room but he realised immediately his timing was way off. Not only was there a fold-out bed set up in the sitting room area but Juliette looked tense and on edge. Her teeth chewed at her lip, her eyes not quite meeting his.

‘Are you okay?’

She nodded and sat on the sofa and held a scatter cushion against her body like a shield. ‘I will be. I just need a glass of water.’

Joe fetched her one and brought it back to where she was sitting. She took the glass from him, guzzled down the water and then handed the glass back. ‘Thanks.’

‘Another one?’

‘Not right now…’ She tossed the cushion aside and reached for her phone in her purse and switched it off silent. ‘I forgot I promised I’d send my mother a picture of Lucy and Damon.’ She clicked the necessary keys and the sound of the message pinging through cyberspace filled the silence. She continued to look at her phone, her forehead wrinkling in a frown. ‘Joe?’

‘Mmm?’

She lifted her head to look at him with a puzzled expression. ‘This email here that just popped into my inbox. Is it spam? It says you and I have been nominated for some sort of fundraising award. It says we’re Fundraising Couple of the Year.’ She held the screen up for him to inspect.

Joe leaned down to read the email, and then straightened to take out his phone and clicked on his own emails. He was copied into the same email she had received. What sort of twisted irony was that? Couple of the Year? They were no longer a couple. He slipped his phone back in his pocket. ‘No, it’s not spam. Remember I told you I’d donated on your behalf? And raised funds through various other means. I sent you emails about it but you chose not to read them. There’s a fundraising dinner in Paris next month. We’ve been invited to go and—’

Juliette sprang off the sofa as if one of the springs had poked her. ‘Are you out of your mind? I’m not going to Paris with you. It’s completely out of the question. Everyone will think we’re still together.’

‘So, what if they do?’

‘We’re not together, Joe.’ A stubborn edge came into her voice, her grey-blue eyes steely. ‘Just because we’ve shared a room this weekend doesn’t mean anything.’

Joe took a deep breath. No way was he going to that fundraiser without her. It was the perfect opportunity to spend more time with her. This weekend wasn’t enough. How could it ever be enough when he wanted her this badly? ‘Juliette. This is not about us. It’s about helping others who experience what we went through. If we don’t show up as a united couple, then how will it look?’

Her expression tightened. ‘It will look exactly as it is. We. Are. Separated.’ The emphasis on each word was like three punches to his gut. She went over to her tote bag in the corner of the room and pulled out some papers and came back to thrust them at him. ‘Here. I’ve been saving these for now.’

Joe’s gaze narrowed as he saw what it was. Legal papers. Divorce papers. A pain spread like fire through his chest, searing through flesh, pulverising bone, taking away his breath.

So, his time in limbo was over.

Juliette had already made up her mind. She had come to their friends’ wedding with divorce papers for him to sign. It was over. No sequel. No reruns.

The End.

A streak of stubbornness steeled his spine and his gaze. Their marriage would end on his say-so, not hers. No way was he signing divorce papers at his best mate’s wedding weekend. He took the papers off her and tossed them onto the seat of the sofa as if they were nothing more than yesterday’s newspaper. ‘I’ll sign those when I’m good and ready. Come to Paris with me and then I’ll give you a divorce.’

Her chin came up and her eyes flashed. ‘You’re blackmailing me?’

He gave a grating laugh. ‘Damn right I am. What were you thinking, bringing those to your best friend’s wedding? I thought you had more class.’

She picked up the legal papers and carefully fed them back inside the envelope. Her movements were calm and controlled but he could see the effort it cost her. Her jaw was tight, her mouth pressed flat, her anger a palpable presence in the room. She put the envelope back in her tote bag and faced him with fire and ice in her gaze. ‘We’ll discuss this again in the morning. I have a headache and don’t want to argue with you right now.’

Joe locked his gaze on hers, his own anger stiffening his spine. Anger so thick and throbbing he could feel it pulsing in his veins like a thousand pummelling fists. ‘You’ll hear the same thing from me in the morning. I will not sign those papers until I’m good and ready. End of.’ He turned and walked out of the suite and closed the door behind him as firmly as a punctuation mark.

Juliette winced as the door shut behind him. She let out a ragged breath. That went well. She tugged at the pins holding her hair up and shook her head to loosen the strands. It didn’t help her headache, nor did the thought of confronting Joe again with the divorce papers. Why was he being so stubborn and obstructive? Hadn’t he said being together again was the last thing he wanted? Or was he interested in a little affair with her until after Paris? She couldn’t allow herself to be used in such a way. She wouldn’t allow herself to be exposed to more hurt when he failed to support her in the way she wanted. Needed. He was all for helping others in their situation, but what about helping her? Supporting her?

When Juliette woke the next morning, after a fitful sleep, she found a note propped up on the bedside table, written in Joe’s distinctive handwriting.

See you in Paris,

Joe.

She glanced around the room. His luggage was gone. There was no trace of him in the suite. It was as if he had never been there with her.

Isn’t that the truth?

She gritted her teeth and scrunched the note up in a ball and threw it at the nearest wall. ‘I’ll see you in hell first.’

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