Jack eyed the Scrabble board with amusement. "Tryina keep me occupied?"

"Don't presume your boredom matters to me," Rose said haughtily. "I happen to enjoy this game."

"Oh really?"

"Yes. I'm rather good at it in fact." She handed him the bag of letter tiles. "Pick your letters."

"Is this what you did to pass the time with Cal?" He said it lightly, but once it was out he wondered why he said it at all. He wasn't jealous; he had never been jealous of Cal. It was more complex than that. If anything, he was curious about their relationship.

"No. I doubt he's ever played," she answered. "He certainly would never have spent an hour just playing a game with me, unless I took my clothes off at the end," she added sardonically.

"So, does that mean if I win—"

"No." She smiled slightly as she said it. "You still have some healing to do first."

"I'm alright," he said.

"Your wrist is broken," she reminded him.

"Yeah, but—"

"And your ribs are still sore. The bruises aren't even gone yet. They need more time." Rose's eyes softened. "You go first, Jack."

"Who did you play with?" he asked, putting down a word.

"My maid."

"You had your own maid?" Jack said. "Like, she just did things for you?"

"Yes."

"Wow. That's…"

"I know," Rose said. "It's completely absurd. Only children should need someone to help dress them every day." She put down a word. "Your turn."

"Breakfast," Jack said. "Double word score."

"You've never played before?" she asked.

"I'm a natural," he said with a grin.

"Clearly."

"I'm good at games," Jack said. "And I said I haven't played a lot, not that I've never played."

"Pancake. Triple word score."

"Rose, there was a person whose job it was to help put your clothes on?" Jack knew a little of how the upper class pantheon of servants worked, but this was a new concept.

"And take them off again. Did you actually find this interesting?" she said.

"Yeah. And it doesn't sound like a bad job," he said. "I'd do it for nothing."

"Jack, my love, you already do," she said jokingly. "You have to remember, though, I changed clothes at least four times a day."

"Is that supposed to be a drawback?" he said. "Cantaloupe. Eighteen more points for me."

"Do you think you could manage four times a day, every day?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"I'd certainly try," he said in a low voice.

A shiver moved down her back. She tried to hide it, but Jack saw it. He looked at her closely, his good hand nearly touching hers. She pretended not to notice. "Early. With the double letter score that's thirteen for me." Rose tossed her hair back, revealing her neck. She heard him sigh quietly. "Your turn," she said.

Jack studied his letters. Chuckling, he set down his next word. "Caress. I believe that's seventeen points."

"So it is," she said. "And I get twenty points for—" She laid down the tiles. "Thighs. Double letter and double word scores."

"Alright." Jack took more letters from the bag. "Bed," he said triumphantly. "Eight points."

"That was the best you could do, Jack?"

"You don't think that was a good word? It seemed to have an effect on you," he teased.

"We aren't going there," Rose said. "But since you asked for it. Breasts. Fifteen points." She leaned forward, chin in her hand. "Something wrong?"

"Not at all, Rose-Petal."

Her skin was hot. His eyes moved over her, and she felt his hands. Rose wished she had the same effect on him, not realizing she did. "Your turn," she said.

"Maybe this wasn't the best idea."

"Can't you handle it?" she said coyly. "Why, Jack, I thought you were worldly enough for a simple game of Scrabble, even one that's taken a bit of a turn."

"That's one way to put it," he said.

"Do you want to stop?" she asked.

"No." His voice was low again.

"Put down a word."

"Touch," he said. "Seven points."

"And I've got tremble. Twelve points."

"That's a good one," he said.

"I'm rather proud of it," she said.

"In the game?"

"Where else?" she said. "I don't know what other context you could be referring to." He brushed her hand with his fingertips. "Jack," she warned.

"What is it, Rose?" he said, feigning innocence.

"You know."

He stroked her hand. "I don't know."

Jack stood up as she did. Rose moved around the table, intending to pass him, but he stopped her. "Rose." It was a sigh, a plea. He cradled her face in his hand.

"It'll hurt you," she said.

"It won't." He kissed her. Instinctively, she put her arms around him. He pressed her against the wall.

"Jack, don't. You'll hurt yourself."

"I'm fine." He kissed her deeply. It took longer than usual, but he managed to unbutton her dress with one hand. He kissed her neck, sliding the dress off her shoulders. His knees buckled. He pressed himself even closer.

"Jack." Rose lifted his head. "Please."

"Do you want me, Rose?"

"That doesn't matter," she said.

"Of course it does," he replied. "Do you?"

"Yes. You know I do."

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked. "Honestly, tell me. I will."

Rose was still amazed that it took only a word from her to bring things to a halt, no matter how far they'd gotten. Were other men like this, or was she just lucky? No," she said. "I don't want you to stop." She closed her eyes as he kissed her. His hand caressed her, fumbling with the rest of her clothes.

"Do you need help?" she asked.

"I can do it." Jack grinned. "And three more times after this."

"I'll believe it when it happens."

They half-carried each other to the bed, kissing as they went. "If you're up to it," he said.

Her arms were around him, her legs; her nails pressed into his back. It hurt, but he liked it. Even the pain in his ribs felt good. The bruises would be worse now, but Jack didn't care.

…..

"Are you sure you're alright?" Rose asked.

"I'm fine. You don't have to keep asking, Petal."

Gingerly, she touched his bruises. "These look like they hurt."

He shrugged. "A little. It's worth it."

"You'll never get better at this rate," she said.

"Sure I will." Jack moved his fingertips down her cheek. "I feel better than I have in days."

"Because you rested like I told you too."

"No." He kissed her gently. "Not just that. This did as much good as a month in bed by myself."

"It couldn't have. Don't be silly, Jack. It's only—"

"Only what?" he said. "Making love?"

"Well, yes," she said.

"You don't think that's important?"

"Of course I do, but I can't possibly-I can't do so much for that…." Rose trailed off, not sure what she wanted to say.

Jack gave her a shocked look. "Have you thought that way this whole time? How? Rose, when we—I mean—You feel what I feel, right?"

"I think so. I can't describe it," she said. "It's—It isn't like anything else."

"No."

"Our bodies understand each other. We understand each other," she said.

"We do," he said. "I don't just want you, Rose. I need you. I miss you, after a while without—even though you're right here."

"It scares me a little, the way you make me feel," she said. "It's overwhelming."

"Why? I'd never hurt you," Jack said.

"I know you wouldn't. It isn't that. Jack, all you have to do is look at me, and I can't stand up. I'm drunk from wanting you."

"I know what you mean. It doesn't scare me, though."

"It doesn't?" Rose said. "Not ever? Not even when you're willing to hurt yourself?"

"No. Like I said, it's just as good as month in bed, maybe better," he said.

"It's too flattering to think I could be responsible for such a miracle."

Jack moved closer. "Be flattered," he whispered. He kissed her. "You've got three more times to get used to it."

….

The room was bathed in sunlight when Rose woke up. Jack lay next to her, his leg around her hip. In this light his injuries didn't look quite so bad. He was bruised, but they were beginning to fade. She kissed the corner of his mouth. He looked so peaceful; he smiled slightly.

The smell of pancakes woke Jack. Yawning, he wandered into the kitchen. "Well, hello," Rose said cheerfully. "Lunch is almost ready."

"Lunch?"

"It's after eleven. Breakfast doesn't sound appropriate," she explained. "But don't worry. It won't be a formal meal. Pants-only is an acceptable choice."

"You've got my shirt," he said, looping an arm around her.

"So I do."

"It looks better on you anyway," he said.

"Are you sure you mean on?" Rose teased.

"Now who's getting ideas?"

"I think I'm out of ideas for the moment," she said. "Jack, last night was…" She shook her head. "I don't know how to describe it."

"Perfect." Jack kissed her cheek. "You were perfect."

"You were rather impressive yourself."

"Good," he grinned.

"Couldn't you tell?" she said. "I didn't think I was expressing myself in a vague manner."

"You weren't. I just like hearing it," he said.

…..

The envelope was waiting in the mailbox next to the door. There was no stamp or post mark. Their names were written on the front in careful, elegant script. Rose turned it over, searching for a clue as to its origins. "What's that?" Jack asked.

"I don't know. It doesn't have a return address."

"Open it," he said.

Rose didn't want to. The smooth, heavy envelope and painstaking lettering reminded her of the invitations for her wedding to Cal. Could it be from him? No, that was ridiculous. He didn't know where they were, and he most likely didn't care. Their engagement was long since over; he had probably already moved on to another girl. He might even be preparing to marry her now.

"It's an invitation," Rose said, surprised. The card was the same cream color as the envelope but on even better paper.

"An invitation to what? We don't know anyone here," he said.

"It's to the party at the hotel," she answered. "The one on Saturday." She turned it over, but there was nothing on the back. "Why would we get one?"

"It has to be a mistake. They wouldn't invite us."

"Do you think there's another Jack and Rose Dawson on the guest list?" she said. "That doesn't seem likely, but neither does our getting this. It can't be a gesture of thanks for all the work we've put into this thing."

"I'm sure it's not. You think it's really meant for us?"

"That's the only explanation that makes sense," Rose said. "Whoever delivered it brought it to our door. They must have known what they were doing."

"Unless it's a prank."

"Why would someone do that?" she asked.

"I don't know," Jack said, shrugging. "Maybe they think they can get us to go, and that'd be funny. Look, poor people!"

"Oh, Jack, you don't really think so, do you?"

"It wouldn't surprise me," he said. "That's half the reason Cal invited me to that dinner. He thought I'd show up looking poor and out of place, and it would be something funny to watch." There was a slight edge in his voice. "I was supposed to make a fool of myself."

"I wouldn't have laughed," she said. "And I didn't think you made a fool of yourself. You had everyone at that table in your hand."

"That's sweet, Petal, but you and Molly were the only ones who thought so."

Rose put the invitation back into its envelope. "Quite the mystery," she said. "Too bad it isn't bigger. The paper's nice. You could use it for a drawing."

….

"I'll go up the ladder," Rose insisted. "You only have one good hand. You can't carry the lights and climb at the same time."

"Fine," Jack relented. "But be careful."

"It won't take a minute."

"I said be careful," he replied. "Not hurry."

The colored lights were heavy, not to mention expensive. They had already been warned about how delicate they were and what would happen if they were broken. The lights had to be hung just so in order to work correctly. Jack held the ladder steady, watching her as she worked. He scolded himself for being so careless. What made him think he didn't have to pay attention while he walked across the roof?

An hour later they were finished. "I can carry the ladder," Rose offered. She picked it up to emphasize her ability. "It isn't that heavy."

"Let me help," Jack said.

"I don't need help. Instead of arguing with me you should be proud be proud you have such a capable wife," she said. "Capable and decorative," she added.

"I am. Rose, you don't have to overdo it though."

"Jack, I want to do these things."

He opened the door to the shed, and she put the ladder back in its place. "I like the work we do," she went on. "It isn't glamorous, but I feel good about it, you know?" She held up her arm. "Feel that."

It wasn't much, but the muscles were starting to develop. "Impressive," he said.

"Maybe not to you, logger, fisherman, tramp steamer worker," she said. "But it is to me, former porcelain doll, potential mantle decoration wife."

"It is impressive," Jack said. He put his arm around her. 'What do you say we do out tomorrow?"

The party was tomorrow. Rose wondered if that had anything to do with his suggestion. "I'd like that," she answered. "What did you have in mind?"

They walked slowly, enjoying the cool evening. "I thought I'd take you to dinner," he said. "We could dance afterwards."

"Can you? With your wrist—"

"I'll manage," he said confidently.

They were heading toward the house when they met him. Andrew walked casually, his expression genial. "Well, I didn't expect to see you again," he said. He glanced at Jack briefly before turning his gaze back to Rose.

Rose moved closer to Jack. She didn't know why. This man wasn't a threat. "We were just having a walk before going inside," she said. "I'm sure you remember my husband, Jack."

"Of course."

"Jack, this is Andrew Cunningham, the gentleman who so kindly assisted us."

"Rose's told me about you," Jack said, holding out his hand. "Thanks for everything."

The two men looked at each other; they were roughly the same height; Jack's work clothes, with the sleeves rolled up, revealing tanned forearms, were a stark contrast to Andrew's immaculate summer suit. Their handshake was more of a battle for dominance than a greeting.

"It was my pleasure," Andrew said. "You're doing better?"

"Yes. A couple more weeks, and this wrist won't be a problem anymore," Jack said.

"Glad to hear it. Your wife was very worried about you," Andrew said.

"She doesn't have to be."

As their exchange went on, Rose felt like she wasn't even there anymore. They spoke only to each other; their eyes remained fixed on each other. It was almost like watching lovers meet, only in reverse. There was no affection here, no potential friendship, or even a pleasant acquaintance. Their interest was only in the other as a rival. Jack's jaw tightened, and she realized he was jealous.

"We should be going," Rose said.

"Don't let my keep you," Andrew said. "I'm sure you've had a long day. I saw you up there, setting up the lights for tomorrow. Very impressive."

"Thank you." Rose felt awkward accepting his praise.

"Bit dangerous though, is isn't it?" Andrew said. "Especially for a woman."

"I can climb a ladder as well as anyone else," she said. "Heights have never been a problem for me." They moved to go.

"Did you get my invitation?" Andrew asked.

"Your invitation?" Jack said.

"Yes, to the party," Andrew replied. "It should have been delivered yesterday. I know it's last minute, but I'd like it if you could come."

"I'm sorry," Rose said. "We can't."

"That's too bad. Well. I won't keep you any longer," Andrew said. "Good evening." He shot one last glance at Jack as he left."

They were silent in the walk home. They barely spoke as they made dinner. Neither of them ate much. Their appetites had evaporated. Jack pushed food around with his fork. His shoulders were tense; he frowned. "Maybe we should go," he said.

"What?" Rose looked up, surprised.

"Maybe we should go to that party tomorrow."

"Jack, you can't be serious," she said. "Why would we do that?"

"Because we were invited," he said. "If we were invited, why not go?"

"Yesterday you were sure it was a prank," she reminded him. "And now you want to go?"

"We don't have to. I just thought it might be a good idea."

"Jack, you don't have to be jealous. I'm not—" she began.

"I'm not jealous," he said.

"Aren't you?" Rose said gently. "When we were talking to him, you—"

"I'm not jealous," he insisted. "I don't like him, that's all. There's something—I don't know what it is."

"And that's why you want us to go?"

"We don't have to. Pretend I didn't say anything about it," he said. "I'm sorry, Rose. I don't know what I was thinking."

That knowing look in Andrew's eyes, the look that said he not only could but would get Rose away from him, that Jack didn't deserve her, and they both knew it, hung over Jack for the rest of the night.