Italian Millionaire, Runaway Principessa

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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.