Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 68(@200wpm)___ 55(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 68(@200wpm)___ 55(@250wpm)___ 46(@300wpm)
She pulled her clothes together and left. I looked at Ben.
"Don't worry about her Vic. I'll always protect you."
I knock again louder, it's really early so maybe he's sleeping deeply. When I still don't get an answer, memories of my naiveté make me bold and I open the door. His room is immaculate but that's Ben, perfectionist to the end. His bed is made though. Or hasn't been slept in. Where is he? I look around for a note or indication of where he could have gone but there's nothing in his room.
I start searching the house but there's no sign of him anywhere. I go to the kitchen thinking he might be up getting breakfast but only Esmeralda is there baking fresh bread.
"Have you seen Ben?" I ask.
"Oh yes Miss, he left very early. Soon as I arrived he was heading out. Said he was spending the day on his yacht."
My stomach drops out from under me. We were supposed to spend this time together and he left for his yacht? He must really hate me to put his inheritance at risk. I sit down and let Esmeralda fix my breakfast.
The rest of the morning passes with nothing to really do. I try to read a book but can't hold my attention on it. By early afternoon I give up and settle in to watch some television.
I can't quit going over the argument in my mind. What could I have done differently? Why did my dad and Ben argue so much? He'd brought up the night I was almost raped. What am I missing?
My memory of that night is fragmented. After Ben rescued me my parents took me to the hospital and there were so many things happening. They kept me there for three days giving me drugs and running tests. A psychiatrist came to see me for counseling. I only recall it in pieces, moments in time that don't connect. I remember Ben and my dad screaming at each other. The worst fight they'd ever had.
Did my dad hit Ben? That can't be right. Dad never hit anyone. He isn't a violent man. I shake my head to clear it but one image stays with me. My dad over Ben with his fist raised, Ben on the ground with his nose bleeding. Is that real?
I'm lost in my thoughts when I hear a crash from the kitchen. I jump up and run to see if Esmeralda is okay. She stands there with both hands over her mouth, tears running down her face, and staring in open horror at the television.
"Ezz, what is it?" I ask.
She points a shaking hand. The screen shows a scene that must be taken from a helicopter circling over a flaming wreck. The sound is too low for me to hear what's happening but a scrolling bar along the bottom says all I need to know.
'Prince' Benjamin Brandt, Playboy Billionaire, lost at sea
My legs shake as I walk over and turn the sound up. The camera circles around Ben's yacht which is in flames and sinking fast. I don't see how anyone could survive that. Fire engulfs the entire structure, there seems to be something stuck to the side of the ship.
"Benjamin Brandt, heir to the Brandt Group, is believed lost at sea. A speedboat crashed into his yacht just over one hour ago causing a massive explosion. Missing along with Mr. Brandt are ..."
The screen fills with faces of other young people believed to have been out on the yacht with Ben. I can't catch my breath. I try to inhale but it won't come. I haven't had two asthma attacks this close together in years but this is another one. I fumble at the kitchen drawer where I keep an emergency inhaler as my vision closes in. I pull it out and take a long puff then work my way to a seat. I stare at the screen which has a picture of Ben posted along the side so we can watch rescuers attempting to put out the fire.
No one can survive that.
Chapter eight
I peek out the curtain in the living room. They're still here, parked all along the edge of our property. Hundreds if not thousands of them. Reporters, paparazzi, fan girls and who knows what else. The edge of our yard has become a memorial to Ben. Flowers, signs, and candles are piled up all dedicated in loving memory to a man none of them really knew.
None of them knew the gentle person under his playboy persona. None of them knew Ben, they saw Prince Ben, the phenomenon of the moment. Cold burning rage wells up inside me as I look at them. News vans with their antennae, paparazzi with their cameras, girls crying over a man they never knew. What right do they have to him!