Читать книгу Italian Millionaire, Runaway Principessa - Sun Chara - Страница 9

Peter drove through the gates of his … their… home, steered the Mercedes along the driveway and pulled up at the front of the house. Rose bushes of every kind surrounded the imposing structure. Ellie pressed the bouquet against her heart, remembering waking up on sunny mornings to rose-scented breeze ruffling the sheer curtains in their bedroom. A wobbly breath and she smelled freshly mowed grass and honeysuckle, which meandered along the wrought-iron fence. It bordered several acres of land, including the gardener’s cottage in back.

“Welcome home, Signora Medeci.” Peter cast her a perfunctory glance, slid out, and walked around to the passenger door to open it for her.

Already half way out when he offered his hand to assist her, she ignored his chivalrous gesture and slammed the door behind her.

She could not touch him. If she did, it would be her downfall. Ice. That’s the only way she’d combat the sexual attraction sizzling at his nearness. “Er … thanks.”

She followed him up the veranda steps to the front door. He was a man who walked with confidence, who commanded respect because he had earned it. She could not deny him that. What she could deny him was herself, her heart. You’d be denying yourself, girl, the voice in her head reprimanded. Go away, she said. She refused to live in his shadow any longer. “I can find my own way.”

“Glad to hear you still remember the way.” He inserted the key in the lock, his words laced with sarcasm.

“I sure do.” She couldn’t help baiting him. “The way in and the way out.”

He caught her in the laser beam of his eyes. “You certainly do.”

“Ye-es,” she murmured, hugging the roses to her bosom.

She had to keep her distance; must not fall for his sex appeal. If she faltered in her resolve, she’d lose. She glanced at his taciturn features. Reaching him on another level now would be like trying to break through a brick wall. She’d already gotten one crack on the head from her earlier tumble. She wasn’t eager for another.

“This is where you belong.” He opened the door wide. “Not in that two-bit hole you’ve been living in.”

She spun to give him a tart response and clutched her head, her knees buckling. “Ooh-o-o.”

Peter scooped her up in his arms and the flowers fluttered to the floor. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he said, tone firm. “I won’t bite.”

Ellie blinked at the bright spots bopping before her eyes and did as he asked, hair at his nape cushioning her fingers. High voltage zapped into her, scrambling her pulse. He smelled of soap and fresh air. It’d be so easy to burrow into his neck, nibble her way to his ear, and across his jaw to his mouth. Pretend this Arctic front between them was a bad dream. Peter strode across the threshold to the living room and broke the spell by plunking her down on the couch.

“I’ll get the luggage,” his said, his words curt.

“Whose?”

He chuckled. “That’s right. You left your things at your … er … place.”

“I have plenty more here.” She brushed a hand across her eyes, thankful that the dizziness was diminishing. “In the upstairs closet.”

He cast her a covert glance. “In our bedroom.”

“I’ll ask Marta to help move them to the guestroom,” she said.

Silence. Long, tense, and cold.

“No.”

“We made an agreement.”

“After your sudden departure, I gave the staff an extended vacation.” He walked to the circular bar in the corner. “Drink?” He glanced at her bandaged temple. “A soft beverage would be best.”

Ellie waved her hand, no.

“Marta comes by every couple of weeks to clean, cook, and stock the freezer.” He seized a bottle of sparkling water, twisted the cap off, saluted her, and took several gulps. “Jose keeps an eye on the lawns.” After contemplating the contents in the bottle, he took a last swig and set it on the counter. “I’ll move your things into the other room.”

“That means we’re alone.”

“That bother you?”

“Of course not.” But her heart bounced against her ribs.

“Make yourself at … er … home,” Peter said, a wry twist to his lips. “I won’t take long.” A steady gaze, then he turned and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor.

“Home.” The word feathered from her lips and she scooted off the sofa. Could this ever be her home? A grand house, yes. A home, she doubted it.

Yet, during her short stay here, she was glad Marta wouldn’t be taking over so completely she’d be shooed from the kitchen.

Ellie had played the lady of leisure far too long. Lazing away hours at the pool, strolling the property, shopping online, and cruising Rodeo Drive for the latest fashion trends. Gucci, Prada, Channel. She’d become a regular fashionista frequenting the gym, spa, beauty salon—manicurist, pedicurist, hairstylist, beautician. On ‘show’ with Peter at some medical event or other, she had to be on top form.

Outwardly she’d been a knockout, but inwardly she’d been a mess. The lavish pampering serviced her body, but not her soul. A sliver of fear pierced her. Twisting around, she glanced at the grounds through the window spanning one whole wall. Power walks around the estate and puttering in her miniature vegetable garden were more her style. Since it was February, she’d have to forego the latter, but she could certainly do the former, followed by a quick dip in the pool.

A wistful smile flitted across her mouth. At first, she’d been thrilled to be the bride of the up-and-coming young surgeon. He was hot, sexy, and good looking… and generous. He supplied her with every material thing she could ever want. He had her on his arm at every medical function imaginable. And she glowed. Lived his life. Lived for him. Eventually, the lifestyle that played like a fairy tale lost its enchantment and nearly demolished her, keeping her own dreams under lock and key.

Peter became more preoccupied with his profession. His stellar success in wielding the knife had placed him in high demand on a global scale. He jetted both to major capitals of the world and to minor locales.

At the start, Ellie had accompanied him, and while he was in session, she played tourist—alone. She strolled along the River Thames, hopped on a double-decker to Buckingham Palace, Tower of London, and Westminster Abbey when on British soil; she climbed the Acropolis to the Parthenon, day-cruised Mediterranean islands, and over-tipped the slick-talking cabbies in Athens. At that recollection, she almost giggled. Riding the rented scooter to the Arc de Triomphe, Champs Elysées, Eiffel Tower and, of course, the haute couture scene in Paris had been fun. And so it had gone with other cities, in other countries, on other continents.

A sigh built inside her and she expelled the heavy sound. At night, she waited for Peter in their extravagant hotel suite to return from his speaking engagements and other commitments. With his reputation on the rise, he garnered accolades that held him in good stead for political gain in the medical field. He climbed the ranks and soon after landed a seat on the Medical Board.

Sought after more than ever, Peter began doing double duty on the domestic and global fronts.

Ellie hadn’t accompanied him as often. Instead, she busied herself with social activities befitting her station as his wife. Since their high-caliber lifestyle alienated most of her friends, she drifted to his circle. But nothing could fill the void inside her that only he could satisfy.

Rubbing her hands over her arms, Ellie wandered around the living room. She trailed her fingers over priceless objets d’art, from the bronze statue to the porcelain vase in the corner of the room. When Peter finally plodded home, he was exhausted and in no mood to talk. Just dropped into bed and hauled her with him.

As time crawled by, their beautiful Beverly Hills mansion morphed into a gilded cage for Ellie. Emotionally depleted, she turned into a shell of herself. The emptiness of her life had taken its toll. She had no recourse but to flee the ‘palace’. It had broken her heart to leave him, but if she hadn’t, she’d have no heart at all. A distressing moan vibrated from deep in her throat.

When she heard the sound of Peter bounding down the stairs, she reined in her thoughts. He crossed the foyer, paused, and then his footsteps drew closer. Her nerves bounced. She took several deep breaths to center herself, but when he walked in, her pulse leaped.