"Mr. Wonderful" a Franada fanfic
AU. After a lifetime of being forgotten and living in the shadows, lowly secretary Matthew Williams no longer believes in achieving his dreams. Following an unexpected collision with an odd French man with sparkling blue eyes, Matthew, for once, finds himself at the center of someone's world.
Revisions made: April 26, 2012
After a month of living here, Matthew wasn't sure if coming to New York was one of his better ideas or one of his worst. There were too many people filling the perpetually crowded streets of the Big Apple. It was easy to be overlooked, and for a person like Matthew Williams, those chances were nearly 100 percent certain. Sure, he was bumped into more often than not, but at least he hadn't been robbed. It seemed that even in a huge city like New York, pickpockets had more interesting targets to go after like the women wearing enormous fur coats, their Coach bags no doubt filled to the brim with valuables. Compared to Canada's freezing temperatures, the cold here wasn't so bad. New York had the skating rink at the Rockefeller Center as well as the one deep within the heart of Central Park. However, the main reason that he had finally decided to leave his tiny hometown in Canada and move to the largest city in the US was his brother.
Alfred F. Jones owned one of the largest businesses in the city. Upon retiring, Jones Senior had passed Jones & Company his son in the hopes that Alfred would bring it back to the top of the business world. He was not disappointed. Within months of taking over the company, Alfred had given the company a new name—AM Advertising, which had risen above and beyond its competitors. Almost single-handedly, Alfred had secured business deals with foreign companies in China, Japan, and Italy. Handsome, charismatic, outgoing, and everything Matthew was not; Alfred outshone Matthew in every way possible. Perhaps it was for this reason that, despite the fact that he was publicly gay, no one seemed to hold it against him. With the one year anniversary of the business' birth fast approaching, Alfred had decided that he needed someone good with managing files, careful with planning events, and who possessed the skills to make a mean cappuccino: just the right amount of froth, a mocha wafer stick to the side, and a fancy leaf design on the surface to top it all off. Alfred had immediately called in Matthew who he claimed could make the meanest, richest, roughest cappuccino he had ever had—though how a cappuccino could be considered rough and mean, Matthew had no idea.
In a way, Matthew was flattered by the compliments. In another way, he was a bit insulted. It was true that Matthew wasn't as talented and charismatic as his brother, nor was he as handsome or athletic. Despite that, Matthew cared for his brother, which was the reason he now stood at the sparkling, sliding glass doors heading to AM Advertising. He had been here for an entire month, yet the enormity of this place never ceased to amaze him.
"Matt!"
Matthew nearly jumped out of his skin. No one called his name that way except for…
Arms were thrown around him. "Hey bro. You're here early."
Matthew smiled weakly and attempted to straighten under the extra weight. "Alfred."
"Another beautiful morning, eh?" Alfred giggled as though he had told an incredibly funny joke. Matthew smiled a little, decided not to point out the fact that the sky looked stormy and was darkening with the promise of rain, and tried to untangle himself from his brother. "You're early too, Alfred. You don't usually get here until later."
Alfred gave him a secretive smile and beckoned Matthew closer. "See, I was on my way to work—well, here," Alfred gestured at the gargantuan building, "and then I saw it."
Matthew raised a brow. "It?"
"The most beautiful man I've ever seen." Alfred had a slightly dreamy look in his blue eyes. "He had these awesome looking eyebrows, hair the color of…of…" He trailed off and looked around. He gasped and pointed at a passing taxi. "Like that. And his eyes, Matty. Oh, his eyes..." Alfred trailed off again. Matthew sighed and took his love-struck brother's arm, steering him inside. They boarded the elevator, and Matthew prodded his brother for the rest. Knowing Alfred, they would be in a meeting when Alfred finally got around to telling him about this mysterious beauty's eyes.
"His eyes?"
"They were so green. They were like the color of your tie."
Matthew looked down at himself. "My tie is blue."
"Oh."
"I'm sure you mean your tie, Alfred." Matthew pointed to Alfred's emerald colored tie.
Alfred turned to him, a big grin covering his face. "Yeah. Like my tie. Man, Matt. You should've seen him. You know what he said to me?"
"Hm?"
"'What the bloody hell, you foppish twit? Watch where you're going. This is a new, bloody suit, and now you've gone and bloody ruined it, you bloody Yank!'" Alfred looked inappropriately proud that he had managed to be cussed out by a complete stranger. "He was British."
Matthew chuckled at his brother and decided not to mention the fact that since this man was a foreigner, he probably wouldn't be staying in the US long. Life just wasn't fair sometimes, even to people like Alfred. True love doesn't happen by just colliding with someone.
.
The week crawled by the same way the past four had—slow, boring, and uneventful. Alfred's office was usually filled with joyous, raucous laughter while Matthew's cubicle just outside was as silent as ever.
It seemed that Alfred's encounter with the British man had lifted his already high spirits. He proceeded to leave work early and drag Matthew with him, despite the fact that both had only arrived at the office five hours ago.
Matthew sometimes wondered how Alfred could afford to be so lax with his work ethic, but even when he had just been a CEO of Jones and Co., the boisterous American always seemed three steps ahead of the competition. This was the main reason why Matthew protested very little as Alfred dragged him to what Matthew suspected was the direction of the skating rink in Central Park. He was not disappointed.
They entered through the tall iron gates of the park. The trees were bare, the grass was brown, and small, stubborn lumps of snow clung to the ground. Children were clambering all over the Balto statue and barely spared Alfred and Matthew a glance as they walked briskly by.
It wasn't long before Matthew could hear the dull roar of too many people crowding a small space and skates cutting through the choppy ice.
Alfred gave a childish giggle and yanked Matthew's arm even harder. Matthew was always confused at why Alfred was so excited to skate despite the fact that skating was, what Matthew believed, the only athletic activity Alfred was horrible at.
Within half an hour, he and Alfred stood at the counter for ice skates. Ever the frequent visitor, the employees behind the counter recognized Alfred immediately and fetched a pair of size 12 skates. He then moved on to the next customer without a second glance at Matthew.
Matthew sometimes wondered if people actually made a conscious effort to ignore him.
Alfred laid a hand on the counter and leaned in to call out to the employee, "Can I get another pair of those for my brother here?"
The employee seemed surprised but less than apologetic when he returned with another pair of skates for Matthew. "Sorry about that, Al. Didn't see him." With a halfhearted sigh, Matthew took the skates from the counter, careful to avoid the sharp blades.
He turned to follow Alfred to the lockers to switch their regular shoes for skates and bumped into a tall brunette.
"Oh!" Matthew backed up and gripped his skates tightly. "I'm so sorry."
The man gave him a big grin that reminded Matthew of one of Alfred's. "No problem, amigo." The man had a heavy Spanish accent. His emerald eyes glittered with good cheer. Matthew wondered vaguely if they were as green as Alfred's British crush.
A shout cut over the sound of people talking, stumbling around awkwardly in their skates, and trying to find lost party members. A man with hair so pale it almost looked as though it had been bleached white waved. Were his eyes red? The Spanish man waved back. "If you'll excuse me. I should probably be going now."
Matthew was about to apologize again for running into him, but the Spaniard was already gone, lost in the mobs of people.
"Matty, hurry up and get your skates on! We've got some ice to be tearing up!"
Matthew turned and weaved through the people to get to his brother who was teetering dangerously in his skates despite having both feet on the ground.
As soon as Matthew's skates were on his feet and securely tied, Alfred grabbed his arm and dragged him out to the rink. Matthew gave futile apologies to those he bumped, though they didn't seem to really notice him.
Alfred reached the edge of the ice and halted abruptly. Matthew stumbled to a halt behind him.
"Alfred, what's wrong?"
Alfred was giving the ice a mistrusting look as though it had personally wronged him. Matthew felt a smile crack his lips. Getting on the ice had always been Alfred's biggest problem—that and trying not to fall on his butt.
Matthew slid around his brother and stepped easily onto the ice. He turned and held a hand out. "C'mon, Alfred. There are people behind you." Alfred looked over his shoulder. A little girl with pigtails and fancy white skates glared at him indignantly. Alfred grinned at her, then turned back to the ice. He looked up nervously.
"Y'know what, Matt? Why don't you go on ahead? I'm going to, uh...grab a hot chocolate."
That was Alfred-speak for, 'I'm going to mentally prepare myself while grabbing a hot chocolate.'
Shrugging, Matthew turned and pushed off. A smile rose to his lips, unbidden. Easily, he skirted between families and couples alike and zipped past fallen skaters. Matthew loved skating. Matthew had embraced his skating ability on the abundance of frozen ponds in Canada during his younger days. It had been one of the only things he excelled at. If nothing else, Matthew could at least boast he was as good a skater as any other hockey player, having joined his high school's and university's teams years ago.
He saw an open patch of ice near the wall and went for it. A wave of shaved ice went flying through the air as he skidded to a stop, a triumphant grin on his lips.
"Bonjour."
Matthew blinked and turned to the source of the greeting. A man was standing at the edge of the rink, gripping the side tightly. The stranger's hair had been pulled loose from its ponytail; his cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his blue eyes sparkled and grew slightly wider as Matthew fully turned to face him. Matthew could feel his heart rate increase, and an odd thrill ran through him.
"Bonjour." He responded tentatively.
"Enchanté," the stranger picked up one of Matthew's hands and brushed his lips against the knuckles. Matthew flushed and almost pulled his hand away but froze, as though under a spell, when the stranger raised his head and flashed him a brilliant smile. "If you will allow me to be so bold, mon cher, my name is Francis Bonnefoy. Would you like to have dinner with me this fine evening?"
Matthew was struck dumb for a few moments. Normal men do not just go around asking complete strangers out to dinner. Though apparently Monsieur Bonnefoy did.
"Um."
"Francis, you stupid bastard. What the fuck are you doing?"
Matthew jumped and caught himself against the wall. Skaters around the ring glared at the same man from before with the almost whitish hair for throwing around such crude language. Upon closer inspection, Matthew could see this man's eyes were not red, merely a peculiarly dark ochre shade.
Francis' brilliant smile dimmed several watts. "Ah. Gilbert."
"Are you accosting another complete stranger? You know only I can get away with that." Gilbert stated proudly. Francis raised a finely plucked brow. Matthew watched the whole exchange silently with something akin to amusement.
"That's because no one knows what to think, you stupid German."
"Prussian!"
"Gilbert, where is Antonio?" Francis asked, looking around the busy rink. "German."
"Around." Gilbert waved dismissively. "Prussian."
"Amigos!"
Matthew felt his head begin to spin and vaguely wondered if Alfred had gotten onto the ice yet. He contemplated fleeing but a gleam in Gilbert's eye told Matthew that would probably be a bad idea, plus this whole exchange was getting more and more interesting by the second.
"You're too damn slow." Gilbert grumbled at the man carefully skating his way towards the trio. Matthew was not entirely surprised when Antonio turned out to be the Spaniard he had bumped into before.
"Yes, well, excuse me if you have the patience of a three year old..." Antonio said, raising his nose to the air, "And German."
"Prussian!"
Francis shook his head helplessly, and Matthew's attention was drawn back to the Frenchman and his blue eyes that swept over his body from head to skate. "It seems we will have to take a rain check on that dinner, mon cher."
This man seemed to cast a spell over him; Matthew still could not seem to get his vocal cords working.
Already, Gilbert and Antonio were skating away, still bantering. Matthew could hear their ongoing argument, "German." "Prussian." "German." "Prussian."
"But I didn't—"
Francis winked. "Telephonez-moi," he said and began to slowly skate away. Francis stopped in the middle of the rink and turned halfway. "Ah, oui. Your name, mon cher?"
"Matthew Williams." Matthew blurted out before he could stop himself. Why did it seem as though he had no choice but to answer this man?
In any case, Francis looked delighted. "I hope to see you soon, Matthieu."
Matthew watched until Francis and his odd companions were out of sight. Certainly though, they were not out of mind. Matthew took a deep, shuddering breath. Something crinkled in his hand, and he looked down. In his fist was a sheet of paper with a name and number. When had that gotten there?
'Francis Bonnefoy' the name read. A number was written below in thin, elegant handwriting.
What had Matthew just sort of agreed to?
Ta-da. First and foremost, I would like to thank George deValier for allowing me permission to steal the idea of using songs from way back when as the basis for this story. In this case, it is a song originally sung by Peggy Lee during the 1950s (the link can be found below). This story, unlike George deValier's, takes place in modern day times since I don't think they had sliding glass doors in the 1950s even in New York. Hopefully this story won't end up getting too out of hand and should have five or so chapters. Anyways, if you've the time, please look up the lyrics to this song since the lyrics sort of set the tone for these chapters. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Please continue to support my endeavors as I come out of my lengthy hiatus. A million thanks to my new beta, Kay, who is going to be doing the editing for this story. I was shocked and a bit nauseated at some of the sentences I had previously written. I don't know what I was thinking, but my thanks go out to Kay for setting me straight.
Peggy Lee's "Mr. Wonderful" - /watch?v=qOS4DBatLBI
Notes for translation:
Enchanté is basically, 'enchanted to meet you'.
Telephonez-moi is basically 'call me'.
-CeeKim