chapter one: 'the end'      The phone rang out in the dark. She reached out her hand, blindly, and picked up the receiver.      "Hello?" she asked, groggily, into the phone.      "Emma?" a raspy, hoarse voice answered back, "Emma, is that you?" Emma sat upright in bed and turned on the nightstand light.      "Uncle Charles?" she whispered back into the phone, covering her mouth. "You sound upset, what's wrong?"      "Emma, something horrible has happened," he paused, sniffling, "Emma, love, Diana's died." She gasped. She couldn't believe it, how could this happen?      "What? What?" she stammered, "What happened?" she gushed, tears streaming down her face.      "It was a car accident, in Paris. There was nothing they could have done."      "When…when did she die?"      "About an hour ago." She sat and cried in bed. "Emma, I've sent a car to get you in London and bring you out here to Balmoral. William needs you. He's not responding to anyone."      "Okay," she choked out.      "The family wants you to be there, at the funeral and everything. You're the daughter she never had, you know."      "Okay."      "I'll see you when you get out here." She hung up the phone and began to get some things together.      She grabbed the suitcase from under her bed and began to toss underwear, clothes, shoes and other stuff into it. She walked over to her closet and removed her nice black dress and over-coat. She placed them in a garment bag on her bed unto top of her fully packed and zipped suitcase. She grabbed her hatbox off the top self of her closet and took all her bags downstairs.      She went back upstairs to change into jeans and a t-shirt. She brushed her teeth and wrote a note for her father. She grabbed her purse and quietly slipped outside to the waiting car. .:.      As the car swiftly drove out to Balmoral, she thought about her 'second mother'. Diana and Charles were friends of her parents. When Emma's mum died when Emma was just eight years old, Diana took over as mother. Emma's birthday parties were always arranged and sponsored by Diana. Even after her divorce from Charles, Diana still included Emma and her father in all the events in her life.      She remembered the lavish tea party Diana threw for her thirteenth birthday, inviting all her friends and their mothers. Diana sat next to Emma and served as her mother. Diana called Emma "darling". It was one of the happiest days of Emma's life. But Diana gave her more than just wonderful parties and lots of laughs; she gave Emma her best friend - Will.      Emma and Will were inseparable from day one. Even though their friendship started out on rocky terms (he pinched her, she kicked him back), they soon became best friends, causing all sorts of raucous around the palaces.      In fact it was Emma's idea that Will slip away from his bodyguards. They teased Harry together, and became obsessed with computer games together. They would play endless games of hide-and-go-seek as kids, running all over the place. He'd pretend that he was Superman and she'd pretend that she was Wonder Woman and they'd run around the grounds with towels pinned to their shirts. They never fought. They always got along. They loved each other in that platonic-friends-but-more-like-siblings kind of way. They knew everything about each other. She knew that he picked at his shirt and looked at his shuffling feet whenever he was nervous, and he knew that she chewed on and bit her bottom lip whenever she was nervous. He could eat more than an entire football team if her was hungry enough, and she could probably eat more than him. She knew that he hated his "destiny" nine times out of ten, but he knew that he could always count on her to talk him into doing something he should do, even if he didn't want to. They were like yin and yang, perfect compliments to each other. She always picked the tomatoes off her salad, and he always put them on his; in turn he took the cucumbers off his salad and she put them on hers. She liked ketchup, and he liked mustard. She was louder, and he was softer. She was lanky and scrawny growing up, he was more filled out and muscular. They just fit together like a perfect jigsaw puzzle.      Lately, however, their relationship was moving into un-chartered territory. They were beginning to like members of the opposite sex. Emma will never forget the first time that he called her and asked for her advice on girls. She was flabbergasted. Is this how it was going to be? Was she now just an advice column?      Emma never fit in much with his other friends. They were high-society socialites with trust funds and five-star educations. She was an American whose parent's jobs took her all around the world. She wasn't apart of that country-club membership card caring, hunting, polo playing, title holding set; and so she always felt out of place when Will asked her to go to one of those events with him. She hated the looks that the 'other girls' gave her when she walked in with him. She always felt like a piece of meat around Will's friends, ready to be cut into and divided up to the highest bidders.      He was like a brother to her. He protected her when her mom died. They built a fort out of chairs and blankets in the open space in the middle of his room and stayed in there for almost two days after her mum's funeral. He would venture out for "contraband" every so often. She would hear the soft patter of his feet on the carpet, and a few minutes later he would emerge inside their fort with a bag of cookies or marshmallows. He would tell her an endless list of jokes in an effort to cheer her up. .:.      Emma fell asleep for about an hour, and before she knew it Charles was stirring her awake outside the door to Balmoral. He led her inside and directed one of the butlers to take her things to her room.      "He's in there," he said as he left her in the hall outside the drawing room. She quietly opened the door and stepped inside. It was pitch black, the only light was the moonlight streaming in from the large windows on the opposite side of the room.      "Will?" she whispered softly. He was sitting with his back to her on a sofa in the middle of the room.      "Hey Emma," he sniffled out. She felt the tears rising in her throat again. She walked over to the sofa and sat down next to him. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and put her head on his shoulder.      "I'm so sorry Will."      "It's not your fault, there was nothing that they could do for her at the hospital."      "Who was driving?"      "Dodi's driver."      "Did Dodi die too?" he nodded. He'd yet to look her in the face. She knew why. He didn't like letting her see him cry. She was the only one, really, who had seen him cry. He was very reserved about such matters; but he was seldom reserved around her.      "They killed her Em."      "Who? Who killed her?"      "Those fucking bastards - the press!" he buried his head in his hands. She rubbed his back, giving him a second to calm down.      "I don't know what to say Will. I'm honestly at a loss for words." He looked up at her; she saw his face for the first time. His eyes were bloodshot and red; his face was splotchy and tear-stained.      "You're here," he said softly, "that's all you have to do." They hugged. He knew how much this had to have been affecting her, and she knew the same about him. They sat there on the sofa for a couple hours, talking about their mum, and crying too. .:.      Emma stood next to Zara outside the church while Will followed behind his mother's casket. She stood directly behind Will inside the church during the service. When his uncle Charles Spencer got up and went to the pulpit to read his eulogy, Will reached behind him and grabbed Emma's hand. She knew he was crying, but protocol dictated that she not embrace him. She also knew that by holding his hand she was doing exactly what he wanted.      After the funeral, Emma rode in the same car with Will out to his mother's family's estate. She stood by him while she was being laid to rest on the island in the middle of the pond. When it looked like he was about to lose it, fully, she walked up behind him and embraced him, even though she shouldn't have. She laid her head on his shoulder blades and hugged him. He wrapped his hands around hers and cried. .:.      This time it was her turn to build the fort out of sheets, chairs, and blankets (it was bigger this time too). This time it was her turn to sneak out every so often for "contraband". This time it was her turn to sneak back and crawl into the fort with cookies or marshmallows. This time it was her turn to tell an endless list of jokes. But this time they were both grieving. This time the pain was in both of them. This time they cried together. .:. back