"You can't kick me out! We just ..."
Ben didn't say anything as he climbed out of bed and stood staring at her.
The girl looked back and forth between the two of us. Ben put an arm around my shoulder pulling me close to him. My head spun from the smell of him, the softness of his skin against my face, the strength of his arm around my shoulders.
"You are a freak," the girls said climbing off the bed. "Both of you, damn American freaks!"
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 al
l 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!
I haven't left the house in three days. The police come and go, bringing reports of the search efforts but each visit brings less hope of recovery. They haven't even found his body. They've identified those they've found and Ben isn't among them. He's still missing in shark infested waters. No one believes he could have survived it. At least three people are unaccounted for but a storm is moving in and they won't keep searching past its arrival.
I contacted my Father but he still hasn't returned the call. He's in a rehab clinic and they may be blocking him from this news. So I'm on my own. Alone, trapped in this house. Yesterday I went out the back door hoping to get some fresh air and a reporter jumped the fence. His camera flashed as he rushed me shouting his questions. It was terrifying. The worst part is I have no idea if he was really a reporter or just some crazy trying to get close to the tragedy. Hoping to grab some memorabilia to sell on the internet. The news has been reporting on the insane prices that Prince Ben memorabilia is bringing currently and I'm sure most of it's fake. Some people are getting very rich off this tragedy.
I walk back into his bedroom. Standing there staring at his perfectly made bed the empty ache in my stomach throbs. I miss him so much. I walk over and climb in his bed pulling his covers over me. The scent of him fills my head. I close my eyes and imagine I can feel his strong arms wrapped around me, holding me tight, pulling me back against him.
Memories come back unbidden as I recall laying like this with him. The night he'd kicked that girl out he'd held me tight still naked. I could feel him pressing hard against me. I'd wanted to do more, to know what he felt like, but it was too wrong. I couldn't bring myself to say anything. We'd never crossed that line.
I can't believe he's gone. I don't feel like he's dead. Even after he left, I could feel him out there in the world. I can't figure out why the world hasn't stopped spinning if he's not in it. If he's gone, what's the point?
The doorbell rings. I should answer it but it's probably just more reporters. I don't want to deal with them. I don't want anyone to see me like this. I feel like a total wreck.
I hear Esmeralda answer it and she's talking to someone but I can't bring myself to climb out of his bed. Here I'm surrounded by him. Here I'm safe. He can't leave me. He can't leave again.
"Miss Victoria!" Esmeralda yells her voice cracking at the high pitch.
Reluctantly I climb out of the bed just as she yells again. My feet feel heavy, my legs wooden, it's hard to make my way out of his room. She's yelling again. Good god woman I'm coming.
I make my way down the hallway and the same two detectives who've been reporting to me daily stand in the foyer. Something's changed though, I see it in their demeanor. There's a glimmer of hope instead of the expected apathy.
"Miss Brandt," the lead detective says.
"Yes?" I ask not daring to hope.
"We've located your brother," he says his face breaking into a broad smile.
"He's dehydrated but okay. He's alive Miss Brandt!"
I feel like I'm moving through water. I look from one detective to the other, afraid to believe I heard them right. I can't take more heartbreak.
"He's alive?"