Page 4 of Bride Under Contract

That the press was circling was nothing new—he’d lived with it all his life. Carter Bennett had been making headlines before he’d even been born into his wealthy and somewhat infamous family.

Gordon Bennett, his English father, had caused a stir in the upper echelons of society when he had called off a very suitable engagement to hurriedly marry a gorgeous and equally well-connected American socialite, Sophie Flores.

Carter being the reason!

The couple had gone on to live a bohemian life—sometimes bringing Carter along, but more often leaving him with nannies, or his eccentric grandfather in Borneo, until he’d been old enough for boarding school, where he’d thrived. He’d liked the routine, along with the education, and had shared a room with a boy called Sahir, a young prince, whose protection officer had sat outside as the young boys built ever more intricate towers and bridges.

When Carter had turned eight he’d become a big brother. It hadn’t curtailed his parents’ thirst for adventure and the unconventional. This time around, though, his parents had decided to ‘explore as a family’, and had pulled Carter from school to join them on their adventures in the jungle surrounding his grandfather’s property.

Tragically, he had again become something of a sensation when he’d ‘miraculously’ survived an incident that had claimed Carter’s parents and his baby brother.

Crocodile Attack! That had made for an excellent headline—especially when attached to the Bennett and Flores names!

Only Gordon Bennett’s body had been found, and for a full week it had been assumed Sophie and her two children had perished. But just as the story had started to fade from the front pages and screens, Carter had been back in the headlines again.

Carter Bennett Found Alive—more to come!

Details had proved sparse, though, and confusing. Somehow he’d got through infested waters and been found by local Iban people in dense jungle, some considerable distance from the river, barely clinging to life. Help was on its way, reports had said.

For Carter, help had already arrived.

He could recall opening his eyes to see his friend, Arif’s father.

‘Selamat...’ Bashim had said, and gently told him he was safe. He had been able to tell in an instant that the young boy hadn’t been attacked by a crocodile—his injuries had occurred in the long, lonely days after.

‘Were you trying to find help?’ he’d enquired gently.

But Carter had had no energy to answer.

He had a vague recollection of the motion of being carried back to Bashim’s longhouse on the river’s edge, and the cry of delight from Bashim’s son Arif when they’d arrived. Though he’d lain there almost catatonic he had glimpses of that time—the skill and care they’d taken as they tended to his wounds, the love they’d shown to his devastated grandfather. His friend Arif, just eight himself, had held Carter’s hands when the dressings on his head and back were being changed or helped him sip water.

‘What did you see?’ the little boy had asked, but Carter had not answered. ‘Why won’t he speak?’ Arif had asked his papa. ‘Why can’t he tell us what happened?’

‘Give him time,’ Bashim would respond. ‘He’s not ready.’

To this day, those questions remained unanswered.

The empathy shown to him by Arif’s family and all the locals had been in stark contrast to what lay ahead—doctors, psychologists, investigators and his remaining family...

The press, curiously deflated that the child’s injuries weren’t from a crocodile, had turned its focus on what would become of the tragically orphaned boy.

For a while he’d stayed with his late father’s British lawyer and his wife.

His English uncle had been in rehab and on his third marriage by then, so not really an option. And Carter’s paternal grandfather refused to leave his sprawling property deep in the Borneo jungle—the same untamed land that had claimed Carter’s family...

The spotlight had turned to Carter’s aunt on his mother’s side—a famous New York philanthropist. In truth, she’d spent far more than she’d donated, though she had clearly felt she had to be seen to be doing the right thing and had taken him in.

For Carter it had meant yet more nannies, but even that had proved too much for his glitterati aunt. Especially as he’d been a child who suffered with night terrors and on occasion startled the Fifth Avenue household awake!

After a couple of years appearing with her nephew on suitable occasions, with her interest waning, his aunt had shipped Carter off to England, to ‘connect’ with the other side of his family...

More accurately, he’d been sent back to boarding school.

A few nights of alarming his old friend Sahir’s protection officer with his night terrors had quickly forced Carter to become disciplined, even in sleep, and he’d trained himself to wake up until they’d finally faded.

Most of his summers had still been taken in Borneo, though, and he’d come to dread them.

His friendship with Arif had changed. Carter had no longer wanted to go exploring with him. Arif had tried to be patient, but he’d get bored with hanging around his grandfather’s luxury property. It was the rest of Wilbur Bennett’s land that enthralled Arif—tens of thousands of hectares of undisturbed rainforest, not some manicured gardens and a pool.