"Rose Dawson." I answered when the steward asked my name. Jack's jaw dropped slightly and his eyebrows rose. A hot, timid blush rose to my cheeks.

"Thank you, love. And you sir?" he asked Jack, who's eyes were still fixated on me. His gaze made me uncomfortable and I looked away.

"Jonathan Dawson." he answered absentmindedly. The steward thanked him and scurried away. An awkward silence took his place.

Jack sighed and leaned back against the railing. We'd been standing here for hours and he didn't express a desire to move. It was my theory that he simply liked to be on the edge of everything. If there wasn't a clear way out of a situation he didn't feel safe. At least if he was at the railing and things got too heavy, he could jump. I suspected that despite his lithe figure and apparent lack of muscle, he could make it to Manhattan. I watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a disgusting looking mush of white paper and a lighter. He stared at his hand for a moment and then chuckled sadly before throwing the sopping wet cigarettes into the ocean and putting the lighter back in his pocket. I didn't have the heart to tell him that probably wasn't going to work either.

"I didn't know your full name was Jonathan." I spoke first. He looked me up and down for a moment before responding.

"I didn't know we were related." he responded. My blush deepened. His comment was a hidden request for an explanation.

"It would be easier on my mother to have a daughter who died rather than a daughter who ran away." I told him. It was true, my mother wasn't the nicest woman in the world, but her reputation meant the world to her and I figured sparing her humiliation was the least I could do. Of course, this arrangement would benefit Cal as well, but some things just couldn't be helped.

"I see," he nodded, "just don't go getting any ideas."

I turned toward him and saw an expression of jocularity, laced with nervousness. It was yet another veiled attempt to acquire my real opinion. He was good at that.

"Don't be silly." I simply said, putting on the airs I knew would make him feel ridiculous for even suggesting such a thing. I was good at that.

A brief flash of something I couldn't quite put my finger on ran over his face before he recovered quickly.

"Right then. I'm going to go see if I can find us some food."

And with that he was off, and I was left alone to ponder the slight disappointment I felt in my heart when he told me not to get any "ideas." Ideas about what? Marriage? Surely it was the last thing on his mind, wandering artists don't marry, and if they do, they don't marry runaway rich girls. Furthermore it was the last thing on my mind as well. I just broke an engagement to Lucifer himself mere hours ago. Not to mention, Jack and I had only known each other for three days. Hardly long enough to constitute marriage, or even a courtship. No, I assured myself. This was not some romantic rich girl runs away with poor boy situation. This was me. This was me choosing to escape a life of boredom and unbearable emptiness for something more exciting. I was the main character in this play, the poor boy was simply part of the supporting cast. Still, I couldn't deny the romance of it all. I couldn't deny how beautiful his eyes were. I couldn't deny I'd harbored a crush for him on the Titanic.

"Stop it." I told myself. "Don't be like this. This isn't going to work if you fall in love with him."

Still though, when I saw Jack pushing through passengers on his way back to me, spilling small amounts of soup from the bowls he held in his hands and he looked up at me with a lopsided, boyish grin, I felt my heart swell.

Oh no, not this again.

November 1911

It was my 17th birthday. My mother fluttered around me as I got ready for the evening's festivities. There was to be a party in my honor. I was not looking forward to it.

Trudy was lacing up my gown as my mother spoke to me about Caledon Hockley, the great steel tycoon who would be attending tonight.

"He's of fine breeding, Rose. Not to mention the money he has. It would do you well to impress him, which I have no doubt you will. Thank goodness your beauty makes up for your rudeness, most of the time at least." she rattled on.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It was a technique my father used when he had been frustrated by my mother's nitpicking. Humoring her, he had called it. I felt a pang of sadness when I thought of my father. It had been 7 months since his death and I still felt it all around me. I had only been granted 6 weeks of mourning before my mother had begun searching for a suitable husband.

"After all, two women can't live alone for too long, now can they?" she'd said at breakfast one morning.

"I don't see why not." I argued. She glared. At the time though, I truly hadn't seen why we couldn't go on as we had been. I knew I would have to marry eventually, but I was hoping I had more time. I knew having a deadline would almost guarantee an arranged marriage. I shuddered at the thought.

It wasn't until a few months later that I'd found out the true reason for my sudden need for a man. My father had left next to nothing for us in his will. For the most part, there was nothing to leave. The man everyone had thought to be wealthy and upstanding turned out to have a nasty high-stakes gambling habit that had been draining his bank account steadily for the past several years. My mother had been shocked and appalled. I had simply been shocked. How could I judge a dead man for his actions?

I tried my best to scare off any eligible bachelor who came near me, but all too many of them weren't afraid. I supposed that perhaps I had been something they'd been warned about.

"Young girls are spirited in the beginning, but you can stomp that out easily." their fathers would tell them. It was sad how true that was.

I looked myself over in the mirror when Trudy had been excused by my mother. I ran a hand over the delicate beads on my dress, prepping myself for the real talk my mother would give me now. No one was here to watch and Caledon Hockley wasn't a mother's fantasy for her young daughter anymore. He was a life line.

"Rose." she spoke warningly. I took a deep breath.

"I know." I sighed. For once she didn't continue. She simply nodded and exited the room.

Time was up. The games I played were over. I mourned for my childhood, but picked up my gown and followed her just the same.

If I had known what I was in for, I might've ended it all then and there.

I was standing in the courtyard of our Philadelphia home when I'd first met Caledon Hockley. I'd managed to escape the craziness of the evening for a few moments of solitude.

I sighed and admired the beauty of the lights bouncing off of the damp ground. The rain that had fallen that morning left raindrops on the red roses that surrounded the small area. I fingered a petal and remembered what my father had always told me.

"Your name is Rose not just because you're beautiful like one. It's because you have thorns."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Where were these thorns when I needed them? I ran my hand over the vine and squeezed slightly, allowing a particularly sharp thorn to prick my finger, just for the reminder that roses really did have them. It was then that I felt a presence behind me. An intoxicating cold.

"It's ironic isn't it? That something so beautiful can wound so badly." a male voice uttered. He was very close. I could feel the heat from his chest against my back. I fought the urge to whimper and tried to control my erratic breathing. Despite my best attempts, my voice sounded positively weak when I finally spoke.

"Yes." I squeaked. I turned around slowly and was met with a tall, handsome man with perfectly white teeth and warm brown eyes. He smiled slyly and my heart beat rapidly in my chest. He was so close to me. Men in my society were rarely so forward. It was the stark contrast about him that I loved.

"Maybe he's like me." I remember thinking.

He was not.

He took my hand and kissed it gently.

"Caledon Hockley." he introduced himself. I'd expected as much. Mother most likely sent him out there. For once, I was grateful.

"Rose Dewitt-Bukater." I told him, as if he didn't already know.

That smile stayed plastered on his face. In his mind, I believe, he'd already won.

I sighed as Jack handed me a bowl of soup. He let fingers linger against mine a bit longer than I deemed necessary, long enough to ask if I was alright.

"I'm fine." I said politely. He looked unconvinced, but accepted my answer nonetheless. He ate quickly and a bit sloppily, but it must've been at least a day since his last meal, so that could easily be forgiven. I was starved as well, but I couldn't help but take the more polite approach. I watched him set his bowl down on the deck and turn to me. He seemed amused by my dainty eating habits. I willed myself to speed up. He seemed as though he had something to say. I looked up at him when I was done. He folded his rough hands and bit his lip slightly, as if he was mincing words in his mind.

"Rose." he finally said, with a shockingly gentle and caring voice.

"Yes?"

"Do you really want to do this?" he questioned. He moved my hair behind my ear and his hand lingered against my cheek. I closed my eyes.

"Of course." I answered plainly. I knew full well it wouldn't be easy. But I was prepared. He smiled slightly and took his hand away from my cheek.

"Alright then. Congratulations Rose Dawson." he teased. I smiled brightly. That was yet another good thing about Jack. He never questioned me.

I would later realize this had to do with a little thing called trust, something I had quite a bit to learn about.