Did you know a woman wrote a fanfiction about Will and got it published? It looks brilliant...plus, Will's love interest and I share the same name. :) I am so buying this book.
Anyway, I've already written a fanfiction about him, even though I just discovered my "romantic" feelings for him a few days ago. I officially have no life. :) Yey!
Title: Sweet July
Summary: "She sits up, looking out the doorway, and there he is. Prince William; who has almost just killed her, and is now staring at her strangely, with his hands in the pockets of his trousers."
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Length: 2080 words
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything, including the song “Knocking On Heaven’s Door”, as it is Bob Dylan’s. I don’t know Prince William. I guess this is just an interpretation. Enjoy the story.
Notes: There's a fanfiction site for him here if you want to check it out, although most of it is pretty fucking awful. :D Enjoy! PS - THERE'S A SMALLISH PHOTO UNDER THE CUT FOR EYE-CANDY. :3
At first glance, there’s nothing special about Amelia. She has not a model’s body, the charisma of confidence, nor the elegance of mystery.
What she does have, however, is careless, long auburn curls, plain brown eyes, a few freckles sprinkles across her nose and cheeks. Her body is regular, not too skinny, and not the other way round either.
She is, in every essence of the word, average.
So why is it that she catches his eye?
She meets him one morning when she is crossing the street, her mind on other things, and she doesn’t notice the black automobile coming quickly toward her. She hears it beeping its horn, shrieks in alarm, but she doesn’t have enough to time to run out of the way, and she’s too surprised to really do anything.
The driver slams on his breaks, and the squealing of tires can be heard; the smell of burnt rubber fills her nostrils. Miraculously, the car stops mere inches away from her body. She stands there trembling, not knowing how to react to the whispers and shouts from people who have been watching, horrified, from the sidewalk.
The door of the car opens, and a familiar young man with tousled blond hair and wide eyes steps out of it.
“Holy shit!” he exclaims without restraint for the young children within hearing distance. “Are you alright?” he looks her up and down with worry. She says nothing.
“Hello? Can you hear me?” the man asks her again. A crowd has really begun to gather around them now. The girl slowly looks up at him, all of the colour drained from her face.
“Look...what’s your name?” he asks, more gently this time.
She struggles to make a sound. She is so in shock, so numb to her environment that she can’t quite form a coherent sentence.
“I’m sorry ‘bout your tires,” she mumbles, as she faints into his arms.
“So you’re sure she’ll be alright?”
“Yes, I’m sure. It’s just a bit of the shock wearing off. She should wake up any minute, and then you can feel free to take your girlfriend home.”
“Oh, she’s not my girlfriend, I just–“
“Of course not, Prince. Er, sir...erm, your Highness?–“
“Just...William is fine.”
“Right, of course.”
Amelia hears the sharp clack of the doctors footsteps as he walks away from her hospital bedroom. She has just opened her eyes, and she looks down at her body to see that she’s (thankfully) still in the same old cotton blue dress and gray cardigan she was wearing before this all happened. She sits up, looking out the doorway, and there he is.
Who has almost just killed her, and is now staring at her strangely, with his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
“Hello, there,” he says.
Amelia hesitates. What the fuck should she say? She’s talking to Prince bloody William. What does one say when they come across Prince William?
“Er. Hullo,” she responds.
“Considering you weren’t really harmed in any way, the doctors didn’t require your name to find out who you are....plus, they kind of thought you were my...er...girlfriend, so, what’s your name?”
She quickly swings her legs off the edge of the hospital bed, and wrings her hands.
“–I know. Who you are, I mean.”
Wonderful, Amelia. You’ve made him feel uncomfortable.
“So, I’ve got to go. Er, do you need a lift home?”
“No, no, don’t worry about it, I can just walk. You must have loads of things to get done today. Thank you for thinking of it, though.”
The Prince sighs. “Considering you nearly died because of me, I think I owe you at least this. Come on, it’ll make me feel better.”
“Prince William, just a little word of advice, and please don’t take this condescendingly, but you shouldn’t feel obligated to be kind to people. If you’re going to do it, do it because you want to. Not because I want you to.”
And with that, Amelia smiles very gently, picks up her white converse from the floor, and walks out of the hospital room, leaving a stunned William in her wake.
The second time they meet, she is walking through a public park, when he rudely bumps into her and she falls back in a heap.
“Ow,” Amelia exclaims, as he carefully helps her to her feet.
“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was go – oh. Amelia. Hi.”
And Amelia, shocked at the stranger knowing her name, watches as he lifts up his cap, revealing his apologetic expression.
“William,” she breathes. “I, er, wanted to apologise to you after what happened in hospital. I didn’t mean to, erm, judge you the way I did. I didn’t even know you and I had already made up my mind about you, so....I’m sorry,” she says quickly, all in one breath. She clears her wild hair out of her face.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry too, for being inconsiderate.”
“Would you like to walk with me? Unless you have other plans, of course.”
“I don’t have any other plans. I’d...like to walk with you.”
And so they walk together, no one noticing a thing because of the plain hat William wears to cover up his face. Amelia’s heart beats unbelievably fast, so loudly that she’s sure he must hear it from beside her, and blood pumps its way in and out of her cheeks unsuspectingly. Her hands are clammy, and she hopes he won’t take her hand for fear of him noticing how sweaty they are.
Not that she’s expecting him to, anyway.
“So, what do you do?” William asks curiously.
“I’m a musician. I play the guitar, and the piano, if I’m having a lucky day.”
“A guitarist, eh?” He looks over the guitar case slung over her shoulder, and she nods. “ I’d love to hear you play sometime,” he finishes.
Amelia can’t help but notice how boring their conversation is. She wishes she could be more interesting, but she’s the first to know that she simply cannot force the magic into her, no matter how hard she tries to beat it inside.
“Have you seen the tabloids lately? The ones where people think I’ve killed you?” William chuckles as he says this. Amelia likes the sound of his laugh, it’s simple and warm and she’d love to hear it again, but he doesn’t repeat it.
“Yeah, they’re a bit...off, don’t you think?” Amelia smiles, and notices that Will hasn’t tried to flirt with her at all, or shown any sign of nervousness. Well, it’s not as if she’s that pretty, and rarely will anyone flirt with her anyway, so she isn’t much surprised.
“Do you want to–“
But William is interrupted at the sound of photographers calling his name. Light-bulbs flash in every direction and Amelia is temporarily blinded, left stunned and wondering how they could have possibly snuck up on them like that.
“Is this your girlfriend, William? Are you two out on a date? How does your father feel about this? When is the baby due?” they all yell. Before she knows what’s happening, William has grabbed hold of her hand and started them off, running in the other direction.
They run until they cannot run anymore, until their throats are stinging with fatigue, and their chests are heaving with the effort of trying to catch their breath. They are on a quiet road next to quite a large field of wild flowers and tall green grass, Amelia realises, when she is composed enough to observe their surroundings.
Amelia thinks it’s the most cliched thing she’s ever seen.
“I’m sorry, correct me if I’m wrong....but, er, did one of those reporters ask me when the baby was due? Was that my imagination, or what?” And William bursts out in laughter, and poor Amelia, who was not expecting this, just frowns in confusion at first.
“Do I look pregnant or something?” William keeps laughing, and Amelia listens, feeling a sharp tug at the corners of her mouth that forces her to smile in reciprocation.
They stand there, looking strangely and amusedly at one another when Amelia feels his hand in hers suddenly, bringing her gently into the tall meadow, not responding to her bewildered questions of where they are going and what they are going to do.
He suddenly stops when they have reached a particularly beautiful part of the field. Flowers and tall green and tanned grass surround them.
William lies down on it, creating a soft imprint of his body, flattening the grass underneath him.
Are you fucking serious? Amelia thinks, horrified at the film-like stereotype that she is currently experiencing. William catches her watching him anxiously from above.
“Sit down,” he requests, and she obliges him. He is on his back, his hands folded behind his head, looking casual as ever as he observes the sky.
She uncomfortably sits for a moment in silence, until she sighs and gives in, lying back on her hands and looking up at the same sky William is.
“Why are we here?”
“Don’t you have something...important to get done today?”
He turns on his side to face her, leaning his head on one of his hands, and studies her. Her curious brown eyes turn in his direction.
“Will you play something for me? A song?” Amelia is taken aback, and a bit horrified, as she wasn’t expecting him to actually ask her to perform, but she cannot possibly say no to Prince William.
She takes her acoustic out of its case, places her fingers in position for an A minor, and sings, and William listens, and she watches his face as he takes in the sound of her chords. His eyebrows furrow at some notes and he smiles softly at others, all the while looking reminiscent of some memory she cannot gather.
When she finishes, he responds with a simple, “Beautiful,” and Amelia grins in response. She feels relaxed now that she has shared her music with him, like they have both passed a barrier, and she can calm her nerves.
She smiles. “Would you like to learn?” And she sits in his lap as she guides his fingers through G, and holds his hand as he strums Knocking On Heaven’s Door.
“You’re quite good,” Amelia states. “A natural.”
But she isn’t paying any attention to her words. All she hears and feels are the touch of her fingers against his, her fragile hands, somehow seeming to keep entwining in his open ones. She studies them, measures their hardness, their roughness, observes the almond shape of his fingernails. All in a moment she feels his lips on her neck, wondering when night came because all of a sudden it is dark outside, and she sees stars behind her eyelids, and she smells his dangerously intoxicated cologne as she places her guitar on the ground, and he wraps his arms around her torso. Her head rests back on his shoulder as he lets his lips travel, leaving a trail of heat on her skin. She turns her head around to face him, kissing him in a sudden moment of bravery. All of her fears dissolve, caught up the softness of his lips, the cool breeze of his breath releasing itself from his nostrils on her cheeks, the tickle of his closed eyelashes on hers. They tangle together, they mesh, they no longer co-exist.
She doesn’t know where he begins and where she ends anymore.
When they are walking home along the quiet road, Amelia finds that her hands aren’t clammy as they had been. Her delicate fingers fill the spaces between his, and she smiles.
Just an average, Amelia smile, a smile that normally wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye, but for some reason, it’s enough for William.
She feels a certain familiarity as they walk, and he pulls her closer to her side than ever, suddenly turning toward her and gathering her into his chest. Amelia sinks into him, and he kisses her forehead...it’s as if she belongs here, in these strong, protective arms of his.
And maybe she always has.