And they knew even less about each other now, which was why not doing this was ludicrous. ‘I apologise if this isn’t a good time.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘On the contrary, now is the perfect time—but that wasn’t what I meant. I’ve been expecting you for years, Liberty.’
Libby wanted to correct him, to tell him she never let anyone call her that any more, but the revelation that he’d been expecting her, that he obviously agreed this was the right thing to be doing, was so welcome that she let it pass.
‘You mean you have been trying to contact me? I’m sorry. I did wonder if you had, but I’ve been overseas almost permanently. Bank statements from three years ago are only just starting to catch up with me.’
‘If I had wanted to find you I would not have failed.’
But he hadn’t wanted to find her. What would have been the sense, when he’d always known she would come crawling back once he’d made it, that he would have his chance to turn the tables—make the humiliation hers instead of his? Yes, it had been far too long coming, but he wouldn’t have denied himself this moment for anything—would have waited fifty years if that was what it had taken.
Libby frowned.
‘I rather expected you to come back the first time my name appeared on the International Rich List. Or have you been waiting for me to reach the top ten?’
Her relief evaporated. He thought her coming here had to do with money? She stared back at him in disbelief, and in that instant she realised her initial appraisal had been wrong. He had changed. Grown harder, more cynical. Perhaps she ought to be relieved that he was the stranger to her she’d imagined after all. Instead she just felt sad. ‘I don’t read things like that. I never did.’
He gestured around his enormous office, to the rooftop garden adjacent and the incredible view of the Acropolis, and raised his eyebrow cynically. ‘You mean you weren’t aware that my circumstances have changed?’
‘Of course. But that has nothing to do with why I’m here.’
Rion gave a disparaging laugh. So in many ways she was the same old Liberty Ashworth. Still intent on denying that money mattered to her. That explained her nomadic-looking clothes, at least. They were obviously just part of her plan to convince him she didn’t care about material things any more.
‘So, if not because of my change of circumstances, why have you returned?’ he drawled, deciding to humour her.
Libby took a deep breath, aware that the moment had come. ‘I’m here because it’s been five years, and we should have sorted this out a long time ago,’ she said softly, opening her bag and sliding a sheaf of papers across the table.
Rion didn’t register what she was saying at first. He was too busy watching her face, the flush of colour that had risen in her cheeks at the sight of him, guessing how long she was going to keep up the act. But when he realised she was waiting for him to respond he dropped his eyes to the table—and that was when he saw it.
Libby felt a plunging sense of guilt as she watched his eyes widen in horror, guilt, and disbelief in equal measure. Surely he couldn’t really be that surprised?
Petition for Divorce.
Rion stared down at the words, reeling inwardly in both shock and fury. But the shock was only momentary. It was obvious, really. Despite all he’d achieved, the millions he’d earned, he still lacked the right pedigree for the daughter of Lord and Lady Ashworth, didn’t he?
‘Of course,’ he said bitterly.
Libby swallowed down the lump in her throat. ‘Then you agree that getting this paperwork sorted is long overdue?’
He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, anger and agony warring in his chest. When he’d imagined the moment of her return it had never been like this.
But the second he realised that anger was starting to win out he forced his eyes open. He would not allow himself to feel that pain—not a second time. So she wanted a divorce? So what? He wanted one too. The only reason he hadn’t had it finalised already was because he’d been waiting for the chance to savour his revenge. And who was to say this wasn’t that chance anyway? Fate, he’d come to understand, worked in mysterious ways.
He looked up at her face. The flush of colour in her cheeks was bordering on crimson. She might not want to return as his wife, but it was obvious she did want his body as much as she always had, as much as he still wanted hers—whether he liked it or not. Maybe reminding her that she would never stop desiring him, however low her opinion of him remained, would be even more satisfying. Not to mention useful.
A slow smile spread across his lips. He didn’t need her good opinion. He needed his wife by his side for the duration of his campaign, and he wanted her back in his bed one final time. Then he could discard her, exactly as she had discarded him—with a bit of luck at the exact moment he’d proved to her that her physical desire for him went deeper than any class divide.