"Mr. Andrews, forgive me. I did the sum in my head, and the number of lifeboats times the capacity you mentioned, forgive me, but there does not seem to be enough for everyone aboard."
Rose DeWitt-Bukater, dressed in a fine blue and white gown, her gold- trimmed shawl wrapped around her arms, looked with mild interest at Thomas Andrews, the man her question had been addressed too. If truth be told, she had paid certain attention to the lifeboats to get her mind off of something else. Someone else. That someone was named Jack Dawson.
He had been haunting her thoughts since last night, his boyishly handsome face fading in and out of her mind.
After that party she was thrilled and amazed to think that she was falling for a penniless man. She had entertained obnoxious daydreams, defying her marriage in her mind. She had been left with a desperate desire to see him again. And I would have, she thought with utter horror, if Cal and my mother hadn't talked some sense in me.
She shook her head slightly to clear those foggy thoughts. Forget Jack Dawson. He was more of an illusion, anyway. She was much better off in her wealthy marriage to Caledon Hockley, who was in the steel business. Jack was just a.a dream of freedom, of love. Not the real thing. The real thing was Society and reputations. She had to keep telling herself that. She had been out of her mind to even allow a friendship with him, especially one as intimate as theirs' had been.
"About half actually. Rose, you miss nothing, do you?" Mr. Andrews reply slammed her back to reality. She smiled tolerantly. "See, I put in these special extra type davits, which can take an extra row of boats inside this one. But it was thought, by some, that the deck would look too cluttered, and so I was overruled," he explained.
Cal seemed to smirk. "Waste of deck space as it is, on an unsinkable ship," he commented, hitting a lifeboat with his walking stick.
"Sleep soundly, young Rose. I have built you a good ship, strong and true. She's all the lifeboats you need. Just keep heading aft. The next stop is the." Rose didn't hear the rest of Mr. Andrews' words. A strong, gentle hand gripped her arm. Alarmed, she turned to the man leaning against the nearest lifeboat, sighing inwardly with relief when she saw it was only Jack. He motioned her into the gymnasium. Thinking this was the perfect time to end their silly flirtations, she followed.
When they got inside he removed his hat. His blonde hair flopped attractively into his beautiful, dark, deep blue eyes. Suddenly, the words were difficult to get out. For a moment, the most golden moment of her life so far, she wanted to whisper, "I'm sorry, Jack. I love you," but reason wiped the thought away.
Instead, she managed to say, "Jack, this is impossible. I can't see you." She turned to go, but his tender hand stopped her. She turned to look at him, distress etching her face.
Jack was afraid. He had rehearsed his words over and over in his mind, but he had thought she would welcome them, instead of shunning them. "I need to talk to you," he begged lamely.
"No Jack, no," she pleaded. He gently pinned her against a misty glass window. "Jack," she went on, "I'm engaged. I'm marrying Cal." She looked at him helplessly. "I love Cal."
Never had Jack felt so foolish then at that moment. Did she think this was all over his combating emotions? Of course some of it was, but.it was about her freedom too.
"Rose," he began, "you're no picnic, alright? You're a spoiled little brat even." Smooth, he thought, real smooth. Then he noticed her eyes had changed. They were dancing a forbidden dance of.what? Love? Excitement? Joy? Amusement?
"But under that," he went on as he struggled for words, "you're the most amazing, astounding, wonderful girl.woman.that I've ever known. And." Her eyes returned to her worry.
"Jack, I." She tried to slip out from under him.
"Wait, let me try to get this out!" He protested. "You're ama." He sighed with frustration. "I'm not an idiot. I know how the world works. I've got ten bucks in my pocket, I have n...nothing to offer you and I know that. I understand." Slowly, Jack touched her arm for the briefest second, feeling her stir under his fingertips. "But I'm too involved now. You jump, I jump, remember? I can't turn away without knowing you'll be alright." He shook his head. "That's all that I want."
Rose's mind started pounding. He wanted to make sure she was safe. He cared about her. He had just said he cared about her.
"Well I'll be fine. Really." She tried to smile to reassure him. Jeez, Jack thought, she's trying to fool everyone.
"Really? I don't think so." Her smile evaporated. "They've got you trapped, Rose," he exclaimed, his finger pointing angrily outside, "and you're gonna die if you don't break free, maybe not right away because you're strong but." She was crying now. God, he hadn't wanted to hurt her. To see something so gorgeous in such anguish tore at his heart. He put his hand up to wipe away a tear in her eye and it stayed there, trembling, caressing her cheek. ".that fire I love about you, Rose, sooner or later that fire is going to burn out."
Love? Rose's mind went blank. He was offering to help her, and he had just hinted at his true feelings.
"It's not up to you to save me, Jack," she fought out of her mouth. Jack gulped. He wanted it to be up to him, so badly. He would do anything to unbind this one beautiful, wonderful girl.
"You're right. Only you can do that." He started to lean towards her. He knew he shouldn't kiss her, that now wasn't the time, but he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. He couldn't help it.
Romance caught him in its painful grasp as he moved his lips closer to hers. At first, he thought she was going to allow it. Then, almost sobbing, she reached a perfectly gloved hand to his rough one.
Suddenly, the Rose he had come to love disappeared beneath the Rose everyone else knew. "I'm going back," she choked. "Leave me alone." This time, he let her slip from him. He couldn't keep her there against her will. As she poised herself and glided back to her group without a backwards glance, he put his head against the window, frustrated and angry and hurt. He stayed there for as long as he dared, musing over this mystery of a woman. Her leaving symbolized what he had feared. She preferred the simpler way. And, he thought sadly as he heard his heart breaking, she didn't even have the smallest hint of love for him.

As Rose rejoined Cal, her brain throbbed. She hadn't needed to be so unkind, but the battle that had been going on in her mind had threatened to bring her to the wrong choice. Her life was down the safe and easy path now; it was so much better that way. She would marry her fiancée, and live the life expected of Society women. The money problems introduced by her irresponsible father would be taken care of.
Yet, a tiny part of her heart protested so loudly soon her whole body was swept into its voice. She did not quite understand what Jack had offered her, but it sounded so beautiful she was falling for it.
As her emotions fought a constant, painful battle, Cal's cold, menacing hand closed over her arm. His grip was like the steel he owned. She was pushed back into Jack's voice. Quite suddenly, as though a mirror had been cleared, she understood what he had to give perfectly. Freedom.

Jack hadn't gone back to his cabin. He couldn't face Fabrizio and Tommy, not yet. He was too raw to let them know they had been right.
He had trudged back down to steerage, and had gone to the only place he ever went to think aboard this floating palace, the bow.
He leaned over the rail, gulped in icy, salty air, and looked at the churning waves while trying to sort through his churning thoughts. Every single part of his mind was on Rose. She fit her name, her inner beauty and strong desire wrapped in the thorns of her society in which she had grown in.
He had tried to explain his strong feelings with her, feelings that he had been almost positive she shared, and had been shunned away. That bothered him, but what hurt most was he was helpless to do anything about it. He had needed to talk to her, to try to get his mind out in the open, to lay the cards on the table. He had gazed upon her desperate desire for freedom. His inner artist had seen inside her, seen that she needed to escape. He remembered his words that had true meaning to him, the ones he had stuttered over in the gymnasium. Nothing made sense anymore.
Jack felt like sobbing. He knew she needed help, but she was too uncertain and proud to take it. There were walls between the two of them, walls that Rose was not quite ready to break down. Jack would have smashed them in a second if it had been up to him, but he wasn't. Cal. Her mother. Money. Society. Reputations. Everything that Jack considered stupid was everything to her. Her life was built on her chains, and she couldn't tear herself free. No matter how hard he tried to unlock her, what it all boiled down to was she had the key, not him.

Rose sat rigidly in a finely upholstered chair. Her mother sat beside her and daintily sipped hot English tea out of a china cup.
"Tell Lucille about the disaster you had with the stationers," the Countess of Rothes suggested to Ruth, imitating her and drinking slowly, a pinkie poised in the air.
"Well, of course the invitations had to be sent back, twice." Ruth said with gossipy airs. Her eyes got large.
"Oh my word," Lady Lucille Duff-Gordon exclaimed.
"And the dreadful bridesmaid gowns, let me tell you what an odyssey that has been. Rose decided she wanted lavender. She knows I despise the color, so she did it just in spite of me."
Rose stopped listening to her mother's erotic insults and shifted her blank stare to the table next to them. A lovely little girl sat with a broken posture in her chair. Her mother immediately put out a hand to correct it. The girl now sat lifeless as a doll while her mother showed her how to carefully lay a napkin on her lap.
Was this how Rose's life was going to be? Another person dictating her every move as if she were a child? She was anything but. Quite suddenly, Jack's words drifted back to her.
"They've got you trapped, Rose, and you're gonna die if you don't break free, maybe not right away because you're strong, but.that fire that I love about you Rose. Sooner or later that fire is going to burn out."
Trapped. Die. That was her life. She was trapped and she was going to die. Jack had showed her a mere escape route, and she had shunned it. She had shunned him. The disgrace of not listening to her heart proved much more than following it.
She stood. "Mother, I am feeling rather ill. I think the sea air is getting to me. Please excuse me to my cabin." Ruth looked up from her conversation and nodded.
"Of course, dear. Go."
In a dreamlike trance, Rose floated past the Grand Staircase and to the lift. She managed to whisper, "E-deck," and got out when the doors were pulled open.
Then she awoke, trying to remember the path Jack had taken her down to get to the General Room. She got lost several times but managed to find her way down a gleaming white corridor, towards the sound of loud, happy Irish music.
A few heads turned to stare at her as she made a graceful entrance, but none sought her out. She didn't recognize anyone, and she certainly didn't see Jack. He would have run to her. Just as she was about to leave, her eye caught two people that were vaguely familiar. One was Italian, the other Irish. She remembered meeting them.
Without so much as a second thought, she moved towards them. They both looked up. The Italian jumped excitedly to his feet. "Looking for someone?" He asked, teasing her gently. He had a quiet manner. His accent was charming, but easy to understand. She didn't hesitate at all. She grasped his shoulders. He didn't as much as start. Instead, he put his hands on her back. "What can I do?"
Rose looked him straight in his warm brown eyes. "Where is he?" This man, Fabrizio?, understood immediately.
"On the bow. You two are pazzo." Rose immediately whirled around and followed the directions he shouted after her.

Jack became angry at himself for wanting Rose to be free so badly. She seemed to be fine with the way her life was. Yet, somehow, he knew she wasn't and couldn't be. She was hurt and dying.
Last night, she had gotten a taste of freedom. Last night, she had been laughing in his arms.
Last night.
Cal's loyal valet had retrieved Rose from his world, as much as Rose had wanted to stay. Something had happened between then and now, because she was afraid to see him.
After Jack had returned Molly's son's clothes, he, Fabrizio, and Tommy had discussed Rose. They didn't even support him.
"Jack, that rich lass is trouble, even if she means none. You are a trickle of life to her, but you ain't her sea," Tommy had pointed out.
"You saw her. I'm telling you, she's not like the rest," Jack protested, still feeling Rose pressed next to him.
Now Fabrizio chimed in, his Italian accent swirling through the air. "She is different from you. She's millionaro. There is niente reasoning with her. She is not the one, no? She causes hurt. You must use caution with her type. Her place. Pazzo."
Jack had been fuming. They didn't understand. He had stomped up to the deck, to get some cold air to his overheated brain. Fabrizio's words rang in his head. The one. Jack thought about that statement. His conclusion almost knocked him over backwards, for under a billion glittering stars, a billion diamonds; he realized exactly why he was in such a daze about everything around him.
He had fallen in love with Rose DeWitt-Bukater.
Love had existed for him ever since he had seen her, a fiery red angel above him. God, she had been so beautiful. He had stared transfixed at her, and she couldn't help sadly glancing at him once. She had been shocked by her own boldness, and had quickly looked away. Yet she had been curious, and couldn't resist a last glimpse at him. She had looked incredibly miserable.
Jack hadn't even known her name, the sound of her voice, or her past, but in that second, staring at those beautiful, aching, blue-green eyes, he would have done anything to take her pain away.
Back at the rail, looking out at the sea in the rich sunset, Jack sighed with frustration. Why did he have to care so much? Why did it have to torture his soul, knowing what she was going through?
"It serves you right for falling for a rich girl," the bleakest, most confused part of his brain chanted.
He wanted to help her so bad, to make her happier. He wanted to free her. He couldn't just stand there and watch her suffocate under the rigidness of her life.
"Don't be stupid, Jack. You can only help someone if they let you," his mind chastised.
Another part of his mind, the lovestruck part, protested lamely, "Yes, I know, but."
But what?
Jack Dawson was in denial.
Jack was never in denial. It was against his character. He hit things head on, accepted the unacceptable, and fought for right. He moved on to the next day, since he what was done was done, in his opinion, and there was nothing he could do about it. He did not deny.
Rose had put him in denial.
Why? That was all Jack wanted to know. Why did he have to fall so hard over some girl he couldn't be with? Why did it have to torture his soul, knowing what she was going through? Why did he have to love her so much that.
"Hello Jack."
Jack's thoughts stopped dead. What kind of stupid mind trick was this? It couldn't be. He whirled around.
It was.
Rose DeWitt-Bukater, in all her elegance, beauty, and grace, stood before him, her blue gown and white shawl blowing in the wind.
"I changed my mind."
For a moment, he thought his knees would buckle. He smiled. Every fiber of him was so happy he thought he would explode. She had come to him, finally. And right now, he was so in love with her that was all that mattered. It was the moment. The time for her freedom and his love.
"They said you might be up here." Rose began.
"Shh," Jack tenderly shushed her. Rose looked at him curiously. "Give me your hand," he said, his voice dreamy. He grinned again, a boyish grin that knocked Rose senseless. She did as he asked. The rough feeling of his warm, gentle, calloused artist's hand over hers seduced her. He drew her to him as Titanic cut through the frosty golden waves. The moment was unknown and unexplored for both of them. Rose treasured it as she stopped inches away from Jack's chest.
"Now close your eyes," he whispered. Rose smiled, confused. What did this man have up his sleeve?
"Go on," he softly urged. He was barely able to control his excitement as her soft eyelids flickered closed, shutting out momentarily the beautiful scene around her. "Now step up. Hold onto the railing," he breathed as he helped her up on the prow. "Keep your eyes closed. Don't peek!"
"I'm not," she replied in a voice that told him that she was anticipating whatever he was doing as much as he.
"Step up onto the rail," he continued as he assisted her. He braced her with his own body.
"Do you trust me?" He asked, her words tickling her ears.
"I trust you." She didn't hesitate a second.
Slowly, he spread he arms out across her, like the wings she so desperately needed. She was rigid at first, afraid, but then she relaxed, like warm water, and let him finish. When her arms were all the way out, he took his hands and put them around her small waist.
"Alright," he whispered into her fiery hair, "now open your eyes."
She did so, and immediately her senses were overflowed. She was flying over a sea of bronze, into the horizon which was painted with the most beautiful purples, pinks, blues, and oranges she had ever beheld.
"I'm flying! Jack!" It was all Jack who freed her, who held her safe. He made it possible for her to race away from her loveless engagement, her cold fiancée, her brittle mother, her harsh lifestyle. It was he who was the air under her, guiding her.
Jack smiled. He could feel her excitement, the joy radiating off her body. He breathed into her neck, holding her, feeling her, being with her. It was exhilarating to him. Her beautiful scarlet locks whipped in the wind around his face. A perfumed scent from her hair and skin floated to his nose. Her shawl circled the both of them.
He stretched out his own arms, soaring with her. He couldn't help it any longer. His fingers began caressing hers, saying with his hands what he was struggling to say with words. He began to softly sing a melody that had been popular the year before.
"Come Josephine, my flying machine going up she goes, up she goes." What made Rose shiver was not the brisk wind or the sound of crashing waves; it was the way Jack was playing with her fingers, the way she was responding, the way his breath fell hot against her neck.
She should have told him to stop, but she didn't. This was what she wanted. She was surprised when Jack began to lower his arms over hers, back to his middle. Then she realized that they weren't finished flying.
His hand was over her shoulder. They other moved to her waist, lightly holding her gown. His mouth began to move towards hers, tender and eager. She turned to face him. Slowly, she felt his velvet lips begin to melt against her silk ones. The kiss started slow and contained. Rose knew she was out of line, but she felt herself responding.
As his kiss became more urgent, a stark, beautiful truth hit her. She had fallen completely and irrevocably in love with Jack Dawson.
Her hand moved to the back of his neck, getting tangled in his hair, as she pulled him closer to her. Her other hand clutched at the sleeve of his coat. She was intoxicated by the exotic rise and fall of Jack's chest against her, the warm feeling of his tongue dipping into her mouth, exploring her. Never had a kiss been so passionate. She was lost in him.
Jack realized what he was doing. He was kissing an engaged women, and not being too restrained either. But then she was in a forced engagement. She was kissing him back. And, to top it off, he loved her. That was enough for him to keep going. He stirred against her, stopping for breath and continuing. He had been waiting for this moment ever since he had seen her.
Rose was shocked at how natural and beautiful it was. She realized this was what she had wanted to do all along, at the end of her muddled thoughts. His lips felt so soft and beautiful, like the rest of him. The wind coursed around them, the water flowed in currents below. The rich sunset began to fade, and neither noticed.
Finally, she turned around, facing him. He helped her step off the prow and leaned her against the thick chain holding the mast up. This time, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest, loving the scent of him, of charcoal and paper. A finger reached under her chin, tilting her face up to meet his. He kissed her again, long and slow and warm, and then pressed his forehead against hers. They stood like that, contented, for a moment.
Jack was amazed that he was holding this girl he had never thought he would be able to even speak too. Clearly, she was feeling the same for him that he felt for her. They gazed into each other's starry eyes, both so obviously in love that it glowed from the pair.
Rose never imagined what love would be like. Now, it was pure, thrilling, unexpected, dangerous, innocent.something she couldn't remember and couldn't forget. Her practical part said simply, Stop this now Rose. You can make this just a shipboard flirtation. You can still save your marriage. Rose's heart, however, screamed back louder. I am saving my heart. I'm in love with a man named Jack Dawson.
"Jack," she whispered, "come with me. I want to show you something." Jack looked at her in a playful suspicious sort of way, but allowed Rose to take his hand and lead him inside steerage, away from the rapid purples and blacks now taking over their magical sunset.
As they walked, there was no conversation. Each had so much to think about that their minds burned without physical talking. Jack couldn't believe it was real. He still half expected to wake up in his berth, for this all to be an unbelievable dream. Yet the taste of Rose's lips on his still lingered as proof. He was amazed. Still, he reminded himself irritably, she might not necessarily be in love with him. They had kissed twice. That was it. Two times might not be enough to risk everything, her marriage, her life, her home, for him. Yet every ounce of his being was praying it was.
The hallways twisted and turned until finally they found themselves on boat deck. First class passengers, many of whom Rose knew, strolled arm in arm on the deck. Rose's head told her to let go of Jack's hand lest someone see them, but her heart knew otherwise. She didn't loosen her grip. Instead, she walked closer to him. He uncertainly wrapped his arm around her shoulders. A few dirty looks were thrown at them, but neither noticed. They gazed at each other, smiling, the happiest they had been in their whole lives.
Rose glided down the staircase, graceful and poised as always, yet glowing with more fire and enthusiasm than Jack had ever seen her. She led the way down an elaborate corridor, the carpets lush, and the light fixtures ornate and precise.
"Is it.ok.for me to be here?" His voice trembled. He was offering her a way to get out now, if she didn't feel anything.
Rose turned to him and seemed to giggle as she opened a stateroom door, B-54. "It's quite proper, I assure you." The door swung open and the pair stepped in. "This is the sitting room," she continued.
Jack set about at once, examining the lavish and beautiful furnishings. The woods were dark and exquisite. Everything seemed to be designed for comfort. Several doors led to what seemed to be a washroom, a bedroom, a wardrobe, and a sort of deck. He was investigating the shiny, dustless fireplace when Rose spoke again.
"Will this light do?"
Jack looked up. "What?"
She paused in hanging up her scarf. "Don't artists need good light?"
Jack chuckled inwardly. He put on a fake French accent. "That is true, but I am not used to working in such.horrible conditions!" Rose laughed. Suddenly his eyes caught an explosion of paint in the corner. Immediately he recognized the artist. "Monet!"
Rose followed him as he bent near the painting. "You know his work?" She asked unbelievably.
"Of course," Jack sighed as he traced his expert finger over the lines of brush strokes. "Look at his use of color here, isn't it great?"
"I know," Rose replied. "It's extraordinary." She turned to go do something. Jack marveled over the picture for another couple of seconds, and then turned to find her. As he went, his eyes swept around the suite, amazed at the luxury of it all. If he had thought third-class was nice.whew. It was nothing compared to this. Nothing.
"Cal insists on carting this hideous thing everywhere." Rose's voice was nervous as her fingers flew over the combination to a large green safe.
"Will we be expecting him anytime soon?" Jack asked, curious. Rose slammed the metal door shut.
"Not as long as the cigars and brandy hold out," she answered. She took something out of a blue velvet box and cast the box aside. Jack felt her presence at his shoulder. He looked over as she held a necklace out to him.
It was beautiful, a huge, blue, very expensive stone (by the looks of it) on a white diamond chain. Jack took it in his fingers and held it up to the light in order to see it better.
"Whew, that's nice!" He exclaimed, turning the necklace over and over. "What is it, a sapphire?" The jewel was such a deep, deep blue.
"A diamond. A very rare diamond."
Rose ignored Jack's amazement. Her heart was banging out of her ribs. She had broken every single law that had been laid down before her since she was old enough to understand spoken words. For starters, she had fallen in love with a man who was poorer than imaginable, thus defying her engagement. She had lied to her mother and fiancée. Now she was willing to risk everything - her marriage, her wealth, her reputation, society. Beautifully, she didn't question her mind.
"Jack, I want you to draw me like one of your French girls, wearing this."
He didn't look up from the necklace, not understanding yet what she meant.
She swayed on her feet. "Wearing only this," she finished, letting the words sink in. Now Jack did shift his gaze, abruptly. Wearing only this? Did this mean what he thought it meant? She was going to let him see.his cheeks turned pink at the thought. Sure, he had drawn other girls. But they had been French, and this had been routine for them. They hadn't been engaged. And most importantly, he had not been in love with them.
His face flushed. He struggled to answer. "O.okay," he stuttered. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on his now hot cheek before whirling to go into the bedroom. He watched after her for a moment, enjoying the pleasant tingling sensation her lips had left. Then he sighed and walked into the sitting room, to get ready.
He lugged a chair out from its corner into the center of the room, and then pulled a couch in front of it, rearranging its pillows to make the drawing more effective. The carpet was plush underneath his feet. His head pounded. His brain turned to mush. He loosened his suspenders and let them fall off his shoulders to his waist. He opened his portfolio and took out his tools, a penknife and a stub of charcoal.
Finally, after standing still for a moment, he dropped into the soft armchair and dragged an end table in front of him. As he started to sharpen his charcoal and turn to a fresh page in his book, the door to the wardrobe room opened.
Rose stood in the frame, wearing nothing but a light robe and the necklace. Her beautiful scarlet hair fell freely around her shoulders. She was glowing with excitement. In short, she looked fantastic. His breath was knocked out of him instantly. It was going to be impossible to draw while she looked like.this. Gorgeous was one word, but Jack could think of others. She played madly with the tassel on her dressing gown.
"The last thing I need," Rose began, wearing a slight smile to mask her nervousness, "is another picture of me looking like a porcelain doll. As I paying customer," she opened her palm to reveal a dime and tossed it at Jack's chest. He grinned. "I expect to get what I want." Then, taking a deep inward breath, she stepped backwards. She untied her robe and let it slip softly off her shoulders.
Jack's mind was suddenly so muddled he couldn't think. Here she was in front of him.bare.and his thoughts, he admitted, embarrassed, were not on sketching her. He gulped. She was so stunning that he had a hard time getting his throat to work. Her skin, so creamy and pure and glowing, was in front of him, and he wanted.
She was stroking her stomach self-consciously now, as he hadn't said anything for a few moments, had simply been staring at her. He swallowed again. "Over on the bed, the couch," he corrected himself, giving a mental kick in his brain for stumbling with such an embarrassing phrase.
She seemed to sigh with relief that he actually had spoken. She did as he said and seemed to hesitate, wondering how she should position herself. "Go on," he instructed. "Lie down." His voice was becoming dreamy again, and he struggled to keep himself in check.
She did as he had told her and began to shift her arms. "Tell me when it looks right." She began.
"Yeah, put - put that arm back where it was." She laid her left arm in a curve over her head. "Ok. Now put that hand up, right near your face there." She obeyed. Her right fingertips touched her forehead as her forearm arched around her cheek. "Now, chin down, eyes to me, keep them on me, and try to.stay still." He exhaled and drew the first line.
Rose's heart pounded like a drum inside her ribcage. Never had she felt so strange and natural at once. She tried to pull her nervous smile back as Jack's strong hands began to move over the paper. He looked up, and then continued sketching. His boyish blonde-streaked hair flopped in and out of his eyes as he glanced at her, held her details, and carefully added them onto his picture.
No one spoke for a few minutes. Rose felt she had to break the silence. She studied his face, his smile creases, his soft, smooth cheeks, and his captivating blue eyes.
"So serious," she joked, with a deep, manly accent. He let a soft grin touch his perfectly shaped lips before his earnest, somber expression returned. He began to move in music with his hands, doing what he loved most. Soon the drawing began to resemble a woman, staring seductively out at him. He had captured the way her eyes were gazing at him, full of amazement and enchantment. He moved lower down her body. Minutes later, he was sketching her breasts. He could feel his own cheeks turn red. Damn it. He had never been so embarrassed before.
"I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste," Rose said sweetly. He smiled slightly again, but never stopped drawing. "I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing."
He abruptly stopped and looked up. "He does landscapes," he answered, teasingly. "Just relax your face. No laughing."
Rose held back a giggle. "Sorry," she murmured, working her mouth muscles to keep her lips closed.
Her heart began to beat harder and quicker. Her ears buzzed. For what felt like an eternity, she watched his hands. She could hear the charcoal against paper. She smiled. It was beautiful. Music resounded in her head. She could tell that he wasn't thinking about simply drawing her, and quite honestly she wasn't either.
His hands were moving slower now. Finally, he sighed. "Ok. Finished." They both smiled. She stood and moved to the center of the room, picked up her robe, and wrapped it around her. Then she walked behind Jack and looked over his shoulder at the finished drawing. She realized how embarrassing it must have been for him, to have to stare at her. Yet he had done an excellent job. Every detail was a mirror image of her body. The necklace was shaded to perfection. It was wonderful.
He shut his leather portfolio and handed it to her. "Thank you," she whispered. As she took it, she kissed him. She tried to lean away, but Jack didn't let go of his drawings. He lip locked her as she fought for the folder, giggling. He chuckled to, and finally allowed her to break from him when he was out of breath. She kissed his lips softly before wrestling away, taking his pictures with her.
He sat there for a moment, musing over what had just taken place over the last two hours. He had kissed Rose DeWitt-Bukater, had drawn her without a single piece of clothing on except a blue diamond, and had engaged her in a lip lock. He smiled. Life was looking up.
Rose tore a piece of paper off of a pad of R.M.S. Titanic stationary in her bedroom. She had decided to defy Caledon Hockley. Jack had given her the strength to break off the engagement. It was never meant to be. Yet Jack Dawson.well, maybe that was a different story. She removed a fountain pen from her desk and began to write a note to the man who had literally threatened her life.
"Whatcha doin'?" Jack asked, walking into the room with his suspenders still hanging around his middle.
Rose didn't answer. Instead she smiled and handed him the blue velvet box, the diamond now back inside. "Will you put this back in the safe for me?"
"Mmm hmm," he answered and took back to the wardrobe. He fit it in its nook. Whew. That was a heck of a fortune that guy must own. Jack was glad it wasn't him who had to be responsible for so much money. Besides, it seemed that Cal had failed miserably.
A door that was unexplored stood to his right. He opened it and strutted out onto the private promenade, picking up the coat he had shed earlier from the sitting room floor as he walked. The coat wasn't his. He had 'borrowed' it from a first class man so he could disguise himself convincingly enough to see Rose. He would have to return it.
After he had pulled open a window, he stuck his head out and looked at the deep blue ruffles of the ocean waters. His hair blew back from his face. Surprisingly, it had turned chilly outside. The stars were glittering pieces of ice against a frothy black blanket. Wind thrust itself down his neck and chest.
He turned away, shivering and rubbing his arms, and made his way back to the sitting room. Rose entered from her bedroom. He blew in his hands. "Getting cold," he muttered. Then he glanced at her. Her flowing burnt red tresses were still down around her shoulders. She had fastened pearl earrings into her lobes, and had dressed herself in a simple gown displaying soft blues, lavenders, and pinks. It was tied with a blush- colored sash and boasted short sleeves. Her shoes were plain and shiny. She was stunningly beautiful.
"You look nice," he breathed. She smiled and threw her arms around his neck, kissing his lips feverishly. Cal never told her she was pretty, even if that is why he had proposed. He never gazed at her with such longing and joy and love. He never gazed at her with anything besides hate and contempt.
Suddenly, a knock on the door startled both of them. "Miss Rose?" If Jack didn't recognize the voice, Rose sure did. It was Spicer Lovejoy, Cal's favorite manservant who "took care of things." Rose undid herself from Jack's body, grabbed his hand, and began racing to the back of the suite.
"My drawings!" He exclaimed quietly as she shoved him in her bedroom. She didn't answer, but shut the door with a barely noticeable, "click!" Jack followed as she opened the door from the stateroom hallway and slipped out, closing it behind them as well. Soon they were both walking down the corridor out to the lifts, quietly smiling. When they were almost in the main Grand Staircase hall, the very same door they had escaped from opened again. Lovejoy stood peering out. They began to walk faster, but the loyal valet picked up his pace, certain to overcome them.
"Run!" Rose screamed and grabbed Jack's coat. Soon her hand moved to his, and they held while racing to the nearest available elevator. Passengers were disembarking.
"Wait wait wait wait!" They both yelled, sliding on the heavily waxed floors into the machine. Confused, the bellhop shut the doors behind them. Obviously, he wasn't going fast enough. Rose assisted him.
"Go! Down! Down down down down!" Jack bellowed without taking a breath. The crew member inside slammed the lever down and the lift began to creak down its rope. Lovejoy slammed himself against the wrought iron just as they got low enough to be safe.
"Bye!" Rose mocked, waving her middle finger into the air. Jack and Rose giggled like little children. Straightening his tie, Lovejoy turned and began to run down the stairs. Finally, the doors to the elevator opened. Jack stumbled out, waited for Rose, and again locked her hand with his. They began to whip down flights of stairs. They laughed breathlessly all the while as Jack ran into a steward rolling a cart of silverware. He apologized hastily and picked up the few things he had knocked over.
He and Rose threw themselves behind a door giggling so hard they leaned against the wall.
"Whew!" Jack gulped. "Pretty tough for a valet, this fella. He seems more like a cop."
"I think he was," Rose said, gasping for air, a smile on her face.
Soon Lovejoy raced down the very same steps they had just fallen down. He seemed about to miss them, but at the last second he turned and saw their faces through the glass window.

"Oh shit," Jack mumbled.
"Go!" Rose shrieked. Jack took the lead and began racing down the narrow passage. He took a turn into a dead end. "Hurry!" Rose cried again.
"No wait, over here!" He yelled. He turned left and opened a heavy metal door.
"Quick!" She screamed.
Jack pulled Rose through the entrance and slammed it behind them, locking it. He looked around as he heard a body throw itself against the wall on the other side. Boiling orange clouds of hot fire were coming up from a narrow shaft. Machines roared. The bulkheads and floors were steel. Obviously, they were in a Boiler Room, an area where they shoveled coal into the Titanic's immense bunkers to power the colossal engines.
Rose clamped her hands over her ears to block out the unbelievably loud noise. "Now what?" She asked.
Jack grinned his boyish grin, making his face all the more handsome. "What?" He shouted, mimicking her and throwing his own hands over his own ears. She giggled.
"Now what!?" She yelled louder.
"Oh! Um." He looked around then pointed to a ladder descending into the actual steam, where the workers were. "Down there!"
"Down there?" Rose repeated. Her eyes widened. "But -"He looked at her innocently. He was right. Where else was there? To prove that he wouldn't let anything happen to her, he strode over and pulled her into his arms. She looked up at his face. Without so much as a hesitation, he kissed her soundly on the lips and began to lead her to the ladder.
He went down first and helped her through the opening. Soon, he was descending, Rose not far behind. He landed on hard concrete floor, grabbed her around the waist, and slung her down. They let their eyes sweep over the room, amazed at the impossible size of the boilers and the area. They felt like tiny insects compared to Titanic.
It was unbelievably hot. Orange flames boiled in the bunkers, flickering off cement the walls. Sweat was already appearing on their foreheads.
"Shovel it harder in number seven, mate," an Irish voice instructed. Suddenly, a soot covered man turned noticed them. "Hold up, what are you two doin' down here? It could be dangerous - wait!"

While Jack stood staring at him, frozen, Rose moved into action. She grabbed Jack's coat collar and began to run. He followed with accurate speed. Rose's dress glowed gold with the glittering light as it soared gracefully behind her. Jack's black coat followed, floating like a cloud. His feet pumped under him.
"Don't mind us! You're doing a great job! Keep up the good work!" Jack sang out. Rose laughed, a magical melody drifting through the air. She was beautiful, her hair catching the firelight, her legs moving like cool water beneath her.
They finally stumbled, giggling, into the cargo hold. Jack slammed the thick door shut behind them.
"Ah, what do we have here, huh?" His eyes were trained on the dark red and black car parked in the middle of all the other boxes and crates. He took Rose's hand and led her to it. There, he began to inspect the steering wheel, seats, and pedals. He had never seen one up close before.
Rose cleared her throat pointedly. Jack chuckled, opened the side door, and extended his hand.
"Thank you," Rose said with exaggerated wealthy airs. She took it and allowed him to help her inside. Once situated, she sat on the finely upholstered seat and glanced beside her as the door was shut. Red roses were in a vase, fixed to the wall, in a romantic theme. They were alone. She smiled. This was it. Her heart pounded, but strangely she wasn't at all anxious.
Jack climbed in the front as she pulled down the glass window that separated them. She looked over his shoulders as he honked the horn and lifted his chin. She restrained her snickers.
"Where to, miss?" He asked, still playing their little game. It was all about to end.
She leaned next to his ear. "To the stars," she whispered, her breath tickling his skin. He barely had time to feel shocked before she grabbed him around the waist and pulled him into the back seat with her. His grin softened as he fit himself comfortably next to his love.
Her eyes were full of amazement and adoration. He took her hand in his and began to caress it. He played with her fingers, moving his in and out of the spaces.
"Nervous?" He asked gently.
She looked at him as though he was being foolish. She shook her head slightly. "No," she breathed. His smile widened. She took his smooth fingers from hers and brought them to her mouth, kissing them tenderly, one by one, as though blessing them.
Everything inside of her just wanted to be cherished.
Jack Dawson was dazed. He was in a passion. Every ounce of him was submerged in a cool, everlasting, deep love that he had thought was impossible. No matter what boundaries were between them, they were all tumbling down. This one girl was filling him with emotions that he treasured.
"Put your hands on me, Jack," Rose sighed longingly. Unsure of what to do, his hand flexed. She guided it to her breast. Suddenly they were both swept into each other. His lips were suddenly devouring hers, feeling every kiss and caress she gave. Her hands moved over his back, holding his overcoat. He leaned over her. Suddenly they were lying on the seat, Rose beneath him.
After a moment, he began to fool with her dress, pulling at the sash. She helped him untie it and it slipped to the floor. She managed to work his heavy black coat off his back until it fell beside the sash. Their lips never lost contact. They stopped for breath, and were back at it, kissing so intensely that they began to shiver with fervor.
She could feel his hands jerking at her dress and smiled, knowing what he wanted. She allowed him to have it by undoing the back of the gown and letting him slip it off her. He didn't gawk at her or make her feel uncomfortable, even when he finally managed to win the struggle with her underclothes and glide them from her body to the floor. Instead, he kissed the hallows neck.
She waited until he took a break for a second until she began to unbutton his overworn white shirt. She met his eyes before affectionately pulling it off over his head. She gracefully ran her hands over his exposed flesh. His muscles were strong and powerful. His skin was tan from hours in the sun. In short, he looked fantastic.
Jack's lips lingered on her smooth, creamy skin. He brushed them across her stomach, her chest, her neck. She held onto his face and pulled him up to meet her. Suddenly his lips were on hers, meeting again and again, until they were gasping for air. After another long, unbroken kiss, his mouth was back on her neck, exploring the delicate hallows and moving across to her other ear. She kissed his stomach, leaving a trail of such past his chest, neck, and to his lips. It drove Jack mad, the feeling silk against him, and he kissed her passionately back.