Chapter thirteen:

From across the crowded dining room, Rose could see just who was behind the lavish, all black suit. The way his body moved amongst the peers was enough to ensure he stood out. He walked with such a grace, yet, it was not quite as straight backed as the other passengers and that combination completely enthralled her.

Her own attire a was another burgundy red, this time with silver details and pearls within her hair.

''You're a treasure; a vision.'' Cal had whispered to her before escorting her toward the centre of societal universe. Compliment after compliment had been bestowed upon her and she accepted them all. Tonight, she had felt the need to dress for herself, to ensure that others knew that she was her own woman and that was all she would ever be but with Cal at her side, it did still feel as though it was nothing more than a façade.

Her mother had chosen a more modest colour of a glossy green, but one that still ensured that all eyes were upon her, in contrast with her red hair and pale skin.

''Oh, Rose, you are a sight.'' Ruth had crowed with excitement. ''That lie down this afternoon did wonders for you.''

''Thank you, mother.'' Rose nodded, quietly. Turning, she eyed the tall, pretty woman with Cal stood conversing, not a feeling of jealousy stirring at any place within. His eyes flickered over to Rose now and again as though needing to check she was watching him speak to another. If that was his point; to flaunt a beautiful girl right before her, then it would not work. She hid the smirk which threatened the corners of her mouth and instead breathed out steadily.

Ruth raised her chin, finding Cal's association with another woman, one of which was touching his arm in an intimate fashion to be rather distasteful, but still keeping herself quiet, she immersed herself in the chatter at the table before he was to join them again.

Once the courses had been served, and the orchestra had begun a set, in a rush of merriment, several couples were on their feet dancing. Rose felt her head throb.

''Would you dance, darling?'' Cal extended his hand to her and she didn't refuse, knowing just how he disliked it. Her mood should lift, she thought as she made her way to the dance floor, her skirts swishing around her legs and her shoes clacking against the thick wooden floor. Inside, her stomach was awfully still. She had expected some fluttering about to occur as she laid eyes on him. He had spoken at length with another attractive female before dinner. Rose should feel a shudder of something. A flicker. He was handsome. His beauty was masculine but also very clean. His dinner jacket made of velvet, the material which a woman should want to run her hands over but Rose didn't. He held out his hand as he crossed the dance floor to take her dainty hand in his. They were smoother than hers. Not an ounce of labour had he done in his life. And then, they moved, together in such a motion that it was structured from beginning to end. It was a lively dance, one which Rose moved to mechanically, wonderfully and her eyes weren't on her fiancé but on the floor. On the table. To the chandeliers ahead, and then—Mr, Dawson-

''Darling, you look flushed, perhaps you have consumed too much champagne?''

''Oh, no, I am just exhausted still.''

''Shall we sit after this dance?''

''Oh, I would like at least another.'' Anything to distract her from the elephant in the room. Cal held her, his grip strong and guiding. It was as though she was under his tutelage and not his spell.

''I forget just how well you dance, Rose.''

'Truly? It wasn't such an age ago that we danced at my cotillion.''

''Yes, and I have claimed every dance from you, since then.'' His voice was low, supposedly enthralling to any other woman. Who shouldn't want to share the rest of their lives in the arms of the man they were engaged to be married to? Rose, however, felt her stomach twist.

''Would you be faithful?'' Rose asked, before her mouth could stop her.

''Pardon me?''

''In our marriage, once the vows are taken, would you remain faithful to me?''

Missing a step completely, Cal's expression turned darker, his brows knitted in somewhat of a struggle. ''Never question my honour again, Rose. Do you understand me?'' His voice was course, low and he exhaled his anger out afterward.

Rose was about to apologise for even insinuating that he would break his vows when he added, ''what occurs between a man and his affairs in a marriage is nothing to do with his wife outside of the walls of their home. You should remain wrapped up in whatever it is that married ladies take pleasure in; balls, children, the pianoforte.''

Unable to respond, Rose nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat and lowering her glance to the way their feet went. His grip on her loosened and then once the last chord was struck, Cal had almost dragged her back to their table before making an egress as fast as possible. Rose's wits should have scattered there, but instead, she was—nothing. Nothing other than disappointed in herself for believing that he was a man who could potentially be faithful. Could potentially be a gentleman. He wasn't. Not in matters of the heart. That was what she had known all along but it was only now that evidence had been fully presented to her.

''You utter fool!'' Ruth cried, low. ''You know the situation we are in.''

Rose placed her hand atop her mothers, her mouth curving into a small smile. One which she hoped would sooth her shrill voice. ''Mother, it was a small disagreement, it is all right.''

Glimpsing to the dance-floor, Rose settled her hand across her unsettled stomach as she saw the way Mr. Dawson led Mrs. Brown across the floor. Most eyes were on them, not just because Mrs. Brown was wearing a lace overlay which matched the colouring of a peacock, paired with the flumes within her hair, but also because Mr. Dawson was perhaps one of the finest dancers which she had ever seen. His legs were long, wide and moved with the grace and fluidity of a professional. Mrs. Brown beamed, laughing with him as they went and one could only know what they were chattering of.

''Look at her, dancing with that boy as though she was a young girl herself.'' Her mother glanced over her champagne glass. ''Someone should surely tell her just how ridiculous she looks in colours of that vibrance.''

''Oh mother,'' Rose exhaled, ''does it matter as long as they are happy to dance?''

''Yes, of course. Would you see me dressed like a bird of the African rainforest? Would you see me flirting with a boy half my age? Absolutely not, in fact I-''

Ruth's spine stiffened, sensing the presence of another nearby and she pulled out her fan as a long-legged gentleman stepped closer to them both. She smiled, feigning genuine interest until he stopped right before them.

''Good evening, Mrs. DeWitt Bukater.'' He held out his hand to her, nodding his head in a light bow. His hand shake was perfect, light, as he bowed slowly. He smiled to reveal beautiful white teeth. His hair styled wonderfully this evening.

''Good evening, Mr. Dawson.''

''I must say you look lovely this evening,'' His eyes flashed to Rose, and it was as though someone had doused her in freezing water and then set her alight.

''Thank you.'' Ruth eyed him, suspiciously. ''You will not be escorting my daughter for a dance.''

''Pardon me, ma'am, I believe your daughter is old enough to speak for herself, is she not?''

Rose had remained silent as Jack Dawson had approached both her and her mother. Her breathing had hitched the second she realised what his intentions was. A quick glance about told her that every women present was drinking in the sight of him, his beautiful smile and the way he held himself. As Mr. Dawson came, his lips twitched into a smile, one that only she knew the reason for. Ignoring her mother's staggering wide mouthed gape, she watched his approach to her.

''I do hope you know the waltz.'' He whispered so only she could hear. Rose sheltered her racing heart with her hand, but he took it from her chest with a loving force and without an invite he led her to the centre of the dance-floor. The sharp tapping of their heels on marble was the only warning she had before her elbow was caught and she was spun about. His gaze sparkled with something which made her shiver.

''Yes,'' she managed. ''I can just about recall how to waltz, Mr. Dawson.''

He tugged her closer and the air sweltered between them. He took one hand in his, the other resting at her waist. He kept his frame tight but closer than most would dance. She took note, almost clinging to his arm as they began to move, beautifully and in time with the lovely notes of music. His body was so stiff and she felt as though right here was the safest which she had ever felt in her entire life.

''I thought you were to stay away from me, or God help my reputation'' She kept her voice low, aware that others could possibly here.

''I am incapable, but I will not touch you.''

Jack's words sent chills across her entire body. She almost missed a step but he picked up, allowing them to move smoothly without need for error.

''Thank you,'' she blushed, ''I told you dance wasn't one of my loves.''

''I know. Do you ever feel as though your feet move and yet, you are fully not aware of what they do?''

''Yes.'' She smiled, lowering her lashes. His gaze was intense. She was growing aware of the attention of the others which they had captured. The dark of his attire gleamed beneath the chandelier, as did the topaz of his eyes Rose closed her eyes for just a moment, his grip on her tightened, sweeping her across the room. ''I almost feel as though I am flying.''

''Yet, you fear that?''

Rose's eyes opened, her stomach fluttering from the way he swung her about. It was like no other dance she had ever experienced; not just in intimacy but the way he held her. The layers of clothing between them seemed to create a burn to remove them and be closer to him.

''Yes.''

''Would you never let me show you just how to fly?''

Rose pressed her lips together. The reality of his words was so very sharp. It was as though, in a way, he was offering her his heart and yet, his face was expressionless.

''You overwhelm me.'' She finally responded. ''Just this afternoon, you left me. You must stay away from me, you must-''

Rose slowed the pace of their dance. Her head was light and she was unsure whether it was due to the heat between them or because she had consumed a few glasses of champagne more than usual. She looked out to the rear doors and could no longer see her mother.

''What is it?'' He noted her gaze.

''Escort me to the exit.''

With one brow arched in a silent show of curiosity, he offered his arm and led her towards the double doors, which led out to the Grand Staircase. There were several groups of passengers enjoying the many sights but the distance between parties was sufficient to keep the conversations private. Small nods of heads were enough to allow them to know just how polite they were.

''I felt light headed, my apologises.''

''No, don't be sorry.''

''I need to breathe out in the open.''

Ascending the stairs felt as though she was climbing the highest mountain which one could ever conquer. Feeling utterly breathless, Rose clung to his tensed forearm with such a grip that she feared her fingers had turned white. Out in the cooler air of the Promenade deck, she felt much more able to breath.

''Is that better?'

''Perhaps, you are the reason for the way I feel.''

He laughed, softly. ''I don't doubt that.''

''Yes.''

Rose glanced at him. He was so unabashed of his—feelings, was that the word for it?

''Have you ever been in love?'' For the second time of the evening, a question left before she had even processed the appropriate nature of it. Perhaps, too much time had been spent in Mr. Dawson's presence after all. Cal had left her, in a fit of vapours no doubt, and she would pay for that the next morning, but right now, the curiosity of her question was niggling away at her. ''Pardon my intruding question.''

His gaze fell onto her, also. She felt the intensity of it and looked away, out into the vast ocean, feeling the need to not be so consumed with those feelings at this precise moment.

''No.''

''Forgive me, I simply was asking-''

''No, I mean that I have never been in love.''

''Oh.'' she responded, with a hushed voice. Her lashes lowered as she watched their feet move with the same timing, with him taking slower, shorter strides to match hers.

''Are you attempting to compromise me, Miss. DeWitt Bukater?''

She shook her head, laughing. ''I confess I have no clue as to where the question came from.''

''Then, perhaps, you are wishing for me to fall in love with you?''

''Goodness, no.'' Her eyes went wide, sparkling beneath the beautiful, crystal-clear sky and the moonlight which cast an eerie glow over the entire world. He raked in their surroundings with a considering glance.

''Have you ever been in love?''

Rose's feet paused, ''I don't believe to have been, fully. Maybe an infatuation. Can one tell the difference?''

''Infatuation's pass, they're merely a fascination at the right time but love, or so I hear, its all-consuming. Its core shaking. Its intense and it changes your entire life.''

''You sound as though you speak with experience.''

''My parents were very much in love.'' Jack told her, ''they taught me everything to know about love. How to behave and how to ensure they are aware of how much they are loved.''

''Why, what would you do, say, if I was the one who you were in love with?''

''Well, I would hold you, to me, right here.'' He tapped his chest. Her own chest strained beneath the heavy dress as she ached to be closer to him.

''Or perhaps, you would kiss me, as you did yesterday and then this afternoon.'' Beneath long lashes, her eyes twinkled with a longing to feel him against her just as he did the day before, when he had stolen away her lips.

''I don't know if I could stop myself, hummingbird.''

Her breath hitched at his endearment. It felt as though within his words, a promise was laced. Embarrassed by the depth of her reaction she looked away...to the sky. A shooting star swept across the blackness.

''Look a shooting star.'' Rose exclaimed, pointing.

''Wow, that was a long one.'' He examined the sky, to see if he could see it any further but it had vanished. ''You know what pops used to tell me? That every time you saw one it was a soul going to heaven.''

''I like that. Are we supposed to wish on it?'' Rose turned her head to face Jack, not knowing just how close they had become since spotting the shooting star.

''What would you wish for?'' Jack gazed down into Rose's eyes. He could feel the tiny contact between them. Rose gazed back and took a look at his face and his lips. She wondered for a split second what it would be like to kiss him again. The entire situation was dangerous and just as much as she wanted to stay, she knew that she must return to her own world. She awakened herself from the dream which she appeared to have fell into.

''Something I can't have.''

The air turned slightly awkward and Rose felt the discomfort. Her reply had sent waves down Jack's stomach. Her heart was now open. She began to take quick steps to the first-class entrance in an attempt to walk away from the new situation which she had found herself into.

''Goodnight, Jack.''

Rose rushed off, finding that her legs were unable to move without his aid. Inside the B Deck hallway, the long corridor lay out before her - the way back to her cabin. Mr. Dawson had called after her, she was sure of it, just once or twice but he hadn't come in to her. This was it now, as it should be. The spell was broken.

Her engagement ring sparkled; it seemed to scream that she belonged to Cal. It was not a token of love, just of possession. Just as the Heart of the Ocean was. She glanced at her hands as she laughed hysterically, her voice echoing in the long corridor. She fell against the wall. Tonight, she felt alive, just as a girl her age should. Her insides ached to run back to him, to naively make some sort of mistake. He had called her name; she knew something inevitable would happen if she had returned to the deck. The curiosity was killing her.

Then, she remembered just how powerful his stare had been. Her legs had almost buckled beneath her and no doubt he would have caught her. He had asked what she had wished for – but he already knew. The chemistry between them had caused her entire body to tingle as they had danced; his fingers against her bare skin had awoken feelings which she had never experienced before. It was as though he had touched every nerve in her body setting it alight wholly. It had been as though there were the only two people in the room. She had felt the sinking of her stomach. Cinderella had gone home and the magic would stop and so would this night also.

She had tried to prolong it for as long as possible but the way he had looked at her in that last moment was when she had felt the intensity of everything. She had allowed herself to take a few seconds to see what happened. She had wanted him to kiss her. For his soft lips to melt against hers again and cause her aching for him to disappear. Those few seconds of not knowing, of feeling the build up inside of her and the rush of adrenaline killed her. She had said goodnight and walked away, she was too weak to linger a moment more, too afraid of what to do if he had leant forward to kiss her. The last moment had been a long, lingering hopeful one. But then what would happen?

Rose kicked herself mentally as she rolled her head against the wall. She placed her hands flat against it, feeling how cool it was. Her chest rose and fell, her heart beating so quickly she was dizzy. She thought over the night, each small moment and second which had led to her falling apart right here and now in the corridor. She felt as though she was going insane. Is this what love should do to you?

She felt as though another physical being had pulled her back out onto the deck, to scream Jack's name and to tell him all of her dreams, her fears and for him to kiss her. It told her to take a chance, as this chance would never come again. She had to take a risk; one which she knew should be taken for when she was old, laid in bed and her life flashed before her eyes. She would smile at this very moment.

The other voice restrained her and dragged her back to her cabin. Was this the voice of reason? Her own conscious telling her to not be stupid? To shut up, sit down and to go home. She had a family, a mother who heavily relied on her, a fiancé who cared for her, providing that she behaves as a well brought up girl should, and five hundred members of Philadelphia society preparing to attend her wedding in just a month's time.

The tightening around her neck seemed to grow tighter and tighter like a noose. Why had she felt attached to Jack? Was he her way out? Was that the only reason? For there was something about him which made her feel calm, at ease and yet so utterly nervous. He had saved her life. He had made her see the good in what she had believed to be a hapless situation. Perhaps there was hope and would be in the marriage of her and Cal. One day, she may love her fiancé and have Jack to thank for that. For saving her life and making her believe that life would always have good in it, you just need to take some time away to see that.

Did she need to stand back and look at her life from another stance? She closed her eyes. Her breathing slowed down. Calm overcame her. Only time would tell. She wished she had known what had been going through his mind. Why he had called for her?

She would never find out. The moment had passed. She would do nothing except wait. Perhaps she would see him again, perhaps she wouldn't.

There was hope.

She collected herself and began a slow and hesitant walk back to her stateroom. She was quiet so that her heels didn't clack against the floor. She could still smell the fresh paint; it seemed to waken her and her eyes stung. She didn't know if it was the fumes or the fact that she knew she had wasted such a perfect opportunity to change her life or at least attempt to.

Perhaps she would have looked a fool but at least she would have tried. Now, she would have to live with herself, knowing she didn't act on impulse even when she was riveted with fear.

When she was old she would remember the naivety within, the innocence in the air and how she had judged Jack Dawson so much on the first single glance. She thought he would be trouble but perhaps that was her.

She lingered outside her stateroom for a second or two. She glanced down the corridor where she had walked and how minutes before she had been falling apart.