APRIL
On my way back down to F-Deck, I might as well be floating on air.
I've never met someone like Jackson before, someone who made me feel the way he did. In Southampton, not anyone - let alone a man like him - casted me a second glance. But Jackson did. And not only that, when he looked at me, I felt as if he truly saw me.
It was a strange, terrifying, exhilarating sensation - one that I can't seem to shake. I suppose I don't want to shake it. I plan on holding onto it for as long as I can, until I see him tomorrow for dinner at the very least.
To myself, I widen my eyes and shake my head as I stroll down the silent hall. I'll be in the First Class Dining Saloon for dinner tomorrow night. I can't believe any of this is actually happening. If someone would have told me this just two days ago, as we were packing our things to leave Mrs. Ward's estate, I would have never believed them.
I can hardly believe it myself. I'm worried that I might be dreaming, but when I pinch the skin of my wrist, nothing happens. I'm fully and truly awake.
When I finally reach F-70, I open the door quietly, expecting to be met with a silent, still room. And, for the most part, it is silent and still - save for small sounds coming from the bottom bunk that I share with Lottie.
Sniffles and peeps, tiny whimpers that let me know she's crying and trying to hide the fact that she is. Quickly, I shed my shoes and crawl into bed without changing into nightclothes, then take her into my arms.
"My love, what's wrong?" I ask, stroking her thick, red hair away from her damp face. "Why are you crying?"
She clings to me with all her might, winding her wiry arms around my middle and latching her hands together behind my back. With her forehead pressed to my sternum, she continues to cry and tremble. I shush her, swaying back and forth with the motion of the ship, and pet her hair in a soothing, rhythmic motion that's always comforted her.
"Shhh, shhh," I whisper, closing my eyes while holding her. She's small for five years old, which is thanks to our genetics and the fact that we've not made a practice of eating well. Hopefully, in America, she'll grow more steadily. "Tell me what's wrong."
"I'm scared," Lottie finally says, lifting her face out of the fabric of my dress. Her cornflower blue eyes meet mine and I gently dry the tears from under them.
"Did you have a nightmare?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "No," she whispers, her breath hitching in her throat as she tries to catch it. "I don't want to go to America."
"Oh," I say, running my fingers through her hair. "That's why you're scared?" She nods. "Why don't you want to go?"
She buries her face again and I cup the back of her head, waiting until she feels ready to talk. When she does, she looks at me again and her lower lip trembles.
"It's scary and different," she says. "I don't remember Mama. What if she doesn't know the songs I like to sing?" She rubs her eyes, clearly very tired. "What if she doesn't know my favorite stories, or how to braid my hair?" She hiccups and slips her thumb into her mouth, which lets me know how uneasy she's feeling. "I want to go home."
"We are going home," I say. "I promise, you'll like it in the big city."
"But what if I don't?" she asks.
"It might take some time to get used to," I say. "And you might not remember Mama, but she remembers you. She'll learn all the things you like." I kiss her forehead. "And, either way, you'll always have me."
"Do you promise?" she asks.
I nod and touch her chin with my first finger. "Don't be silly," I say. "Of course. Now, go to sleep. It's late."
She wipes her eyes and settles on the pillow before asking, "Where were you when I was crying? I called for you."
Instantly, I feel guilty that there's no way I could have heard her. Of course, Cecelia is just feet away, but I've always been Lottie's comfort. I was the one who carried her in a sling as we begged on the street, the one who slept with her every night back in the city and while we worked for Mrs. Ward, too. We've been inseparable for her entire life.
"Just exploring," I say, because it's the simplest answer and she should sleep. "Now, close your eyes. I'm right here."
…
APRIL 11TH, 1912
In the morning, I lead Cecelia and Lottie up to the promenade again. By now, it's not difficult to find a way there. As we make our way higher, I hear the quintet playing and my heart instantly lifts.
"Come on," I say, taking my sisters' hands. "Maybe they'll play something we can dance to."
Lottie giggles and Cecelia smiles as the fresh sea air hits our faces, and the music is suddenly much clearer. As the quintet finishes the song they'd been playing and moves onto a quicker, lighter number, Lottie lifts her feet and does a few polka steps that Mrs. Ward taught her when she was feeling especially jolly.
"Look at you, little Lottie!" Cecelia says, clapping along with the beat as our sister spins and stomps.
I take Lottie's hand and hold it above her head, and her flaming hair twists in the strong wind as she twirls. She tosses it around her shoulders and continues to dance as the song picks up, and Cecelia and I are positively beaming. It's lovely to see her with this much energy, playing in a space that allows it. We've only known cramped quarters until this point.
When the song ends, Cecelia and I clap for Lottie and she takes a polite curtsy. Then, from behind us, there comes another round of applause.
I check quickly over my shoulder, worried it might be a first class passenger who could realize our misplacement as soon as he gets a good look at us. But, luckily, it's nothing of the sort. It's Jackson, standing there grinning.
"You're quite the impressive dancer," he says, then gives her a subtle bow. "We don't usually see such talent here."
Lottie blushes and hides behind my leg, clutching my skirt and using it to cover her face. I grin back at him and rest a hand atop her head, letting her know without words that he's a friend and everything is all right.
"Hello," he says, politely nodding at Cecelia. "I'm Jackson Avery. I met your sister last night, but I thought it polite to introduce myself to you two as well."
Cecelia glances at me, then back at Jackson. "Cecelia Kepner," she says. "It's a pleasure to meet you. This is Lottie."
"Can you tell Jackson how old you are, Lottie?" I ask.
She peers up at me, those blue eyes shining, then glances at Jackson. Shyly, she reaches out from behind my dress and holds up five tiny fingers.
"Wow, five years old," Jackson says. "Practically a lady."
Lottie giggles, covering her face as she does so. She's never met someone like Jackson before.
"Lottie, I think we have some exploring to do," Cecelia says slyly, reaching for Lottie's hand. "Let's allow April Grace and Jackson some time to themselves."
Now, it's my turn to blush. As Cecelia and Lottie stroll away, Lottie steals a look over her shoulder with a sparkle in her eyes and Cecelia does, too. I shoo them away with a brush of my hand, then turn back to Jackson, whose gentle eyes are already on me.
"Walk with me?" he asks, and I nod.
Slowly, we make our way along the promenade. We don't speak for the first few moments - instead, we allow the crash of the ocean and the roaring wind to commandeer the conversation. It's only when we stop along the railing that we interrupt the ambiance of the sea.
"I wanted to thank you again," he says, standing up straight with his hands wrapped around the wood. "I don't know what I would've done had I lost my violin."
I turn and study his profile in the most covert way that I can. "It would've been a shame," I say. "It was instinct on my part."
He meets my eyes and, for just an instant, his gaze darts to my lips. But, almost before I can register it, he lifts it again. The glance is so quick that I wonder if I've imagined it.
"I should thank those instincts, then," he says with a smile - a dazzling, bright smile that warms his entire being.
"You're welcome," I say. "I would do it again."
"I hope not to make a habit of tossing my instrument around the deck," he says lightly. "For your safety, I promise I won't."
"Appreciated," I say, chuckling.
We look at the water for a while, and I skim the horizon as the sun is high in the sky. Below deck, it's easy to forget that we're on the biggest ship in the world in the middle of the ocean. We're making history here on the Titanic, with every breath that we take. The newspapers will write about us when we reach New York City. It's a baffling thought - that my sisters and I will forever be memorialized as passengers of a record-breaking ocean liner.
As the ship's horn blows, I turn around to watch the smokestacks bellow into the clean air with my back pressed against the railing.
"You know, only three of the funnels actually work," Jackson says, then points to the fourth. "That one's just for show."
As he says the words, I notice that no smoke is coming from it. I'm not sure I would have seen that on my own. "That's funny," I say, scanning all four smokestacks. It's the first time I've looked at them so closely - they're huge. Massive, really.
As if he's reading my mind, Jackson says, "They're 62 feet tall."
I lift my eyebrows. "And how do you know so much about this ship?" I ask.
He looks a bit bashful, looking back towards the water and avoiding my eyes now. "I read up on it," he says. "I do quite a lot of reading."
I lean forward with my elbows on the railing, faced the same way as he is once again. "What else do you know?" I ask.
"There are 13 couples honeymooning on the ship with us right now," he says.
"How romantic," I say.
He makes eye contact with me, and I don't shy away. My heart hammers at the base of my throat, but I continue to look at him. I can't stop. I don't want to stop.
"This ocean covers about 20% of the world's surface," he says, shifting his eyes back out to the horizon.
"That's too big," I say, feeling a bit like Lottie last night as she spoke about America.
"Very big," he says, then turns again towards me. "Yet you and I are here together."
My heart skips a beat. I can barely handle the expression he's wearing - his eyes full of hope and lit with something else, too, something I could never name.
"We are," I say, clasping my hands together.
Our eyes remain locked for another long moment, then we break to look at the water again. Back and forth, we can't concentrate on the other's face for too long. It's like touching a hot stove - in small increments, it barely hurts. Just a quick zing. But if you allow your hand to linger, you'll come away with bright red burns.
"Last night, had you not been here on the deck," Jackson says, speaking so low that I strain to hear his voice over the water, "I was going to jump."
His words startle me. That is not what I expected him to say. "Why in the world would you do that?" I ask.
He continues to stare at the water, at the frothing whitecaps beating the hull of the boat, and the cobalt blue further out. It never stops. It stretches on forever.
"I'd enjoy a life down there better than the one I lead here," he says.
I frown. "But there's no life down there," I say. "You'd drown."
He smiles humorlessly and shakes his head. "And somehow, that sounded like the better option." He meets my eyes and takes my hand - it surprises me, but I relax into his grip almost instantly. "But then, you appeared."
"I can't swim," I say. "So, I wouldn't have been much help to you."
He smiles. This time, genuinely. "You helped me in ways you don't know," he says. Before I can ask him to elaborate, he says, "You can't swim?"
I shake my head. It's not something that holds high importance in our lives - my sisters don't know how to swim, either. We spend our days working and always have.
"That should change," he says. "Let me teach you."
My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. "Teach me?" I repeat. "Where, down in the Atlantic?"
He laughs. "No, in the swimming pool. Let me take you there. They stock extra bathing clothes. I'll give you a lesson." He squeezes my hand. "It's simple, really."
"I don't know…" I say. "What if someone sees me there?"
"I won't let anyone come near you," he says. "Just me. Only me."
I take a deep breath, knowing very well that there's no way I'll deny him. Suddenly, the thought of parting causes me to fill with dread. How I can be so attached to someone who I've known for less than a full day, I'm not sure.
"All right," I say. "I'll tell my sisters."
…
I've never worn bathing clothes before, and they're strange. I feel naked - probably because it's the closest I've ever been to being naked in public. The material is thick and it covers my body from mid-thigh upwards, but the sleeves barely reach my elbows.
I peer out from the changing room to find Jackson already in the pool, wading comfortably. He's dressed in his own sort of bathing clothes, the same color as mine - dark blue.
"I changed my mind," I say, and his attention flits to me.
He stops swimming and smirks. "The water's fine," he says.
"It's not that," I reply. "The bathing clothes. They're…they're nothing at all!"
He looks theatrically to his left, then to his right. "I'm the only one here," he says. "I promise, you're safe."
That helps a little, but he didn't bother to address the fact that he'll still be seeing me in something close to underthings. But will I ever get this chance again? Signs point to no. I should take it now, while it's presented.
I take a deep breath and push the door of the changing room fully open, clutching a towel near my chest. As I make my way to the pool area, I set the towel down, folded, on a lounge chair and stand on the tile at the edge of the water.
"Come to the shallow end," Jackson says, showing me the way there. I follow him on land as he paddles back to where he can touch the bottom. "Join me."
Carefully, I step into the water and find that it's warm. But still, I'm not soothed. I've never been submerged in anything deeper than a bathtub, and even then - the tubs I've been in were smaller than most.
"It's all right," Jackson says, sensing my nerves. "I'm here. I've got you. Just keep walking. It's shallow here."
I descend the stairs fully until I'm standing in the pool, the water lapping at my waist. It feels nice, I must admit, and I shoot him a small smile to let him know that I'm getting used to it.
After a few minutes of Jackson showing me simple strokes, I'm ready to try them for myself.
"We can't start there," he says. "You'll bite off more than you can chew. First, you have to learn to float."
"Float?"
He nods, then lies flat on his back. Miraculously, he doesn't sink. He bobs on the surface of the water like his body is made of air, weightless, completely suspended. It doesn't seem possible.
"I can't do that," I say, wringing my hands.
"I'll help you," he says. "Do you trust me?"
The funny thing is that I do. I don't know him, not at all, yet I do trust him. I trust him not to let me drown, and I trust him with more than that, too - for reasons I can't say.
"Yes," I say.
"Can I touch you?"
With those words, a shudder ripples through my body that's warmer than the heated pool water. "Yes," I whisper, then bend my knees until the water touches my chin.
Jackson, with one hand behind my neck and the other in the middle of my spine, guides me onto my back. "Relax," he says, and I tell my muscles to do just that, but they won't listen. "I've got you," he continues. "Just relax."
I exhale softly and close my eyes, concentrating on the pressure of his hands on my body. The world is muffled with my ears beneath the surface - I can only hear the gentle movement of the water and the thrum of the boiler room below us. I'm so focused on the sounds that I don't notice when Jackson removes his hands.
"You're floating," he says.
At the sudden realization, my body tenses and I immediately lose the weightlessness I had found. My middle pitches forward, my legs come up, and water rushes over my head. Though I'm only submerged under the water for a moment, adrenaline courses through my system as Jackson lifts me to the surface.
"You're okay," he says, pushing hair out of my eyes. "You're okay. It takes some getting used to."
I sputter and wipe my face, trying to catch my breath. We stand only inches apart from each other, his hands on either side of my neck, resting there after he moved my hair. I wonder if he can feel how wildly my pulse is beating.
We lock eyes and now, the adrenaline hammers my insides for an entirely new reason. I've never kissed a boy before, I've never had the urge, but right now I can think of nothing else better. I can practically feel what his lips would feel like pressed against mine, where he would put his hands, how it would be like to be touched in that way.
I want it. Is it wrong to want something so strongly, something I can't have?
"Excuse me!" a shrill voice says. "This is the women's designated time in the swimming bath. What are you doing here, young man?"
"Damn!" Jackson says, his eyes alight with mischief. "Let's go!" He looks over my shoulder at the flustered woman near the entrance. "We were just leaving."
"I have half a mind to report you," she grumbles.
"I hope you won't," he says, turning on the charm as he leads me out of the pool by the hand. Judging by the look on her face, I have a feeling she's much too taken with his beautiful face to say much of anything - now or in the future.
We hurry out of the pool house hand-in-hand, giggling. When we make it to the hall, we're both dripping and I'm shivering something awful. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my arms vigorously, muttering, "I hate being cold."
It reminds me of being on the street. But I don't tell him that much.
He nods towards the changing room and says, "I'll meet you back here after you change. I don't want you to get sick."
I smile and nod, then disappear into the changing room. I change back into dry clothes and place the bathing outfit in its designated place, then find Jackson in the hall once more, waiting for me.
He takes my hand as we leave the pool house, and we run into a few people whom he recognizes near the entrance. "I'm needed upstairs," he tells me. "But I hope you won't forget about dinner tonight."
"Of course not," I say, grinning.
"Good," he says, then takes my hand and brings it to his lips. He presses a slow, firm kiss to my knuckles, and my knees go weak as he does. "I'll see you tonight, then."
"Yes," I say, "you will."
I watch him leave, completely entranced, and I'm not sure how long I would've stood there had I not been interrupted by a woman who says, "Darlin', do you have any earthly clue what you're doing?"
I shake myself out of the reverie I'd been in and look at who's speaking. It's a woman who just said hello to Jackson - she has russet-colored hair, darker than mine, and a warm expression. An expression that makes me smile in response to her question.
"No," I say truthfully, "not really."
"And how about what you're going to wear tonight?" she asks.
I look down at myself - at the clothes I'd put on this morning, a typical white blouse tucked into a long black skirt, now a bit damp thanks to my hair. "This?" I say.
She chuckles, though not unkindly. "That's what I thought," she says. "Come with me. I'll fix you right up."
…
I never thought I would get a chance to spend time in a first class cabin on the Titanic, but Addison Forbes Montgomery made it happen. I've never seen such luxury in my life, and she welcomes me inside like the room belongs to me. I didn't know to expect such kindness from someone of such stature.
"I have a daughter in Philly who's just about your size," she says. "I'm bringing half her wardrobe to her. I'm sure we can find something suitable for you to wear. Because - I'm sorry to say it, darlin' - but you'd get thrown out on a dime if you showed up wearing those clothes."
I look down at myself yet again. I've never been invited anywhere as high-class as the Dining Saloon, so I don't know what to expect. I could only guess that these clothes aren't upscale enough, but I don't have another option.
"Let's see here," Addison says, rifling through a trunk. She pulls out a few articles and I watch as she lays them over the back of a velvet couch. "This should do just fine."
She dresses me from head to toe in a way I've never been doted on before, even going so far as to pin up my hair in a way I've never done, forming shiny ringlets and finishing the masterpiece with a butterfly clip.
"You go ahead and keep that," she says. "My Sadie will never miss it."
"I can't," I say, touching it gently as she stands behind me and weaves the laces of the corset.
"You can," she says, "and you will. Now, hold still."
I'm no stranger to corsets, but Cecelia has never laced me as tightly as Addison does. By the time she's finished, I'm breathing in an entirely new pattern than I was just moments ago.
As I continue to face the mirror, Addison holds a powder blue dress with jewel details over my head and drapes it over me, and it flows around my figure effortlessly, like it was made just for me.
"A perfect fit," she says, starting on the buttons. "I knew it would be."
I stare at the girl she's made, this girl who is not used to being laced so tightly, to wearing rich colors, to being shown off in this way. Somehow, the reflection, the girl looking back with elaborately coiffed hair decorated with a gemstone pin, is me.
I like who Addison has turned me into for the night. For the first time in my life, I wonder if I could qualify as beautiful - because, right now, I surely feel it.
…
Addison completes my look with white gloves and a pair of low-heeled white shoes. She leads the way towards the Dining Saloon and takes the stairs in front of me, giving me a knowing look as we both spot Jackson at the foot of them. We both know who he's waiting for.
My stomach jumps as he turns and lifts his chin to look where I stand at the top of the steps. His eyes sparkle and I could never put the expression on his face to words, but it makes me come alive in a way I've never experienced.
I descend the stairs slowly and carefully, and, when I reach the bottom, he takes my hand. With a low bow, he kisses my knuckles again and meets my eyes for a long, heated moment.
"You are so incredibly beautiful," he murmurs, offering me his arm.
"Thank you," I say, blushing as I take it. "You clean up nicely, too."
He shakes his head, his eyes still burning into me. If they never left me, not for the rest of the night, not ever, I would be perfectly fine with that. "Not as nicely as you do," he says.
Jackson leads me into the Dining Saloon, introducing me to couples he knows on the way in. When we make it to his family's table, there are a few people already seated - and they make a point of staring as Jackson pulls out my chair and invites me to sit.
There's no denying that I'm an imposter. If I hadn't realized it before, hadn't felt it, I do now. Everyone's eyes are on me - some curious, and some haughty. They make it clear that I do not belong and they'd rather I leave.
As if he can read my mind, Jackson takes my gloved hand under the table. Instantly, I feel more grounded.
"I'd like to introduce April Grace Kepner," he tells the table. He speaks to them, but looks only at me. And, of course, I look back. We could be the only two people in the room for all I know - for all I care. In fact, I wish that we were.
"She saved Jackson's little instrument from meeting a watery grave," says a woman to Jackson's right.
"This is my mother," Jackson says, nodding towards her. "Catherine Avery. And my father, Robert Avery."
He continues to share people's names, but I hold onto none of them. I'm too taken with the amount of silverware in front of me and the fact that, according to staff, the meal is ten courses. I've never been presented with so much food.
"Tell me," Catherine says after the first course. "How are the accommodations in third class?"
My face flames. I'm not ashamed of my status, per se, but it still doesn't feel wonderful to have it flaunted in front of names like the ones seated around me.
"They're fine," I say, smoothing the cloth napkin on my lap.
"Four or more to a room, I hear," a man chortles. "Does it get a bit tight down there, Miss Kepner?"
"I…" I begin, but Jackson touches my leg before I can finish.
"You don't have to answer that," he says.
"Oh, he's just having a little fun, dear," Catherine says, pursing her lips. "Lighten up."
I keep quiet throughout the rest of dinner, concentrating only on what Jackson says. He keeps his voice low, telling me first class gossip and making me laugh when he shouldn't. Dinner is only enjoyable - all ten courses - because he makes it so.
Afterwards, when the men get up to head to the smoking room for cigars and brandy, Jackson doesn't follow them.
"He rarely ever does," Catherine says with an eye-roll.
"That's because he's a real man!" Addison pipes up, eyeing the gaggle of gentlemen and scowling as they go.
"Jackson, isn't it time you saw April back below deck?" Catherine says, her voice saccharine and lilting. "It's late."
To save Jackson from having to find an awkward reply, I smooth my skirt and get to my feet. "She's right," I say. "It is late."
Jackson clears his throat and stands as well. "Let me walk you out," he says, and I take his arm.
We walk in silence until we reach the grand staircase, then he stops in front of me while keeping my hand. "What will you do now?" he asks.
I smooth my thumb over his lithe fingers, feeling the bones and the fine muscles. Unsavory - but not entirely unwelcome - thoughts filter through my mind, such as how I'd like to feel his hands on my body in more places than they've been thus far.
"There's a party in the third class lounge," I say. "My sisters are there now, with my violin. I'm headed there to play."
He looks curious, his interest piqued. "Oh, really?" he says, and I nod. "That sounds tempting."
"Does it?" I ask, intertwining our fingers and taking a step closer to him.
"It does," he says, concentrating on my lips - painted a light pink, with Addison's daughter's lipstick. "Very much so."
"Then join me," I say. "And, this time, let me lead the way."
…
When we arrive below deck, the energy is much more lively. I hold Jackson's hand tightly as we enter the lounge, and glance at him with an excited expression as we immerse ourselves in the smoke and music.
"This is what I know!" I shout over the din. "Let's find Ceci and Lottie."
"Lottie's here?" he asks, slipping an arm around my waist - for convenience or for simple closeness, I can't be quite sure. I enjoy the feeling either way.
"Of course!" I say, weaving through throngs of people. "She loves a good party."
I spot my sisters before long - near the piano. Their hands are linked and they're spinning in circles, only stopping when they spot me approaching with a familiar stranger.
"Gracie!" Lottie shouts, freeing Cecelia's hands to hurry towards me. She crashes into my legs and wraps her thin arms around my middle, hugging me as if we've been separated for weeks instead of hours. She cranes her neck to look at my face and says, with awe, "You look so fancy."
I spin and show her the ensemble in its entirety. "What do you think?" I ask.
"I want to wear this dress!" Lottie says, running her small hands over the texture of the skirt.
"You look gorgeous," Cecelia says. "How did you… Where in the world did you…"
I glance at Jackson with a shining expression. "One of Jackson's family friends lent it to me," I say, "just for the night."
Lottie directs her moon eyes at Jackson. "Can you find a dress like that for me, too?" she asks.
He smiles at her. "I can surely try," he says, which makes her giggle and cover her face with her hands. He makes her so shy.
"This is Jackson's first time at a real party," I say. "Can you hand me my fiddle?"
"Gracie is going to play!" Lottie cheers. "Jackson, when she plays, watch me dance."
"Okay," he says, getting comfortable on the arm of a nearby chair.
With a smirk, I rosin up the bow and tuck the violin under my chin. Then, I fall into one of Lottie's favorite tunes - the Tayfun Seymen Levan Polka.
As I play the light and springy notes, Lottie spins in circles and dances much in the way she had on the promenade earlier today, but this time with her shoes off. Her grin is as wild as her hair, and the glee on her face only prompts me to play faster.
Jackson is clapping along, giving her a beat, and she matches the tempo as I continue to speed up. Her skirt flies and bounces and she starts laughing when the song gets away from her and, in a breathless heap, she collapses on the chair beside Jackson.
"Lottie, your nose!" Cecelia says, and I stop playing once I see the blood.
Lottie lifts a hand to her face and it comes back red, which terrifies her. "Gracie," she says, on the verge of tears.
"Hey, everything's all right," Jackson says, procuring a handkerchief out of nowhere. He holds the back of Lottie's head and presses the clean, white tissue to her nose gently, with expert care. "Have you ever had a nosebleed before?"
She shakes her head and looks at him with wide, fearful eyes.
"Must have been all that dancing," he says. "Don't worry. I get them all the time."
"You do?" she asks, her voice a bit muffled behind the cloth.
"All the time," he repeats. "It's nothing to fret over. It'll be over in no time."
I watch Jackson interact with my little sister, so doting and careful with her - just in the way that I am - and it makes something break open in my chest, something warm and sweet. Like the honey of his voice, but more powerful.
There's something about him - something much deeper than his looks and much, much deeper than his status. Far beyond any of that. He's interesting, layered, and alluring.
And above all, he's kind.
A few minutes go by and I check the handkerchief to find that the bleeding has stopped. I clean up Lottie's face and she's as good as new, flying to her feet and tugging on Jackson's hands so he'll stand, too.
"Dance with me, Jackson!" she says excitedly, then looks at me. "Gracie, play something!"
Never one to turn her down, I start playing another polka tune, one that they can move to. This time, Cecelia claps and Jackson twirls Lottie as many times as she asks. By the time the song is over, she's red in the face and he seems more alive than he has yet.
"Another one!" she says, pulling on his hands once more.
"I'm going to give this dance to your sister," he tells Lottie. "Is that all right with you?"
Lottie looks between us - at Jackson, then me, then Jackson again. "Okay," she says, though I can tell she's disappointed and not fully satisfied with this change of events.
"Lottie, dance with me!" Cecelia offers, and that's all it takes to get Lottie smiling again.
Jackson takes my waist in both hands as soon as the other violinists start to play, and our proximity steals the breath from me. "Does this bother you?" he asks.
"No," I answer, twining my arms around his neck. "Not at all."
We start moving to the music and it's like we're a single body instead of two. I let myself go free, dancing in a way I haven't since I was very, very small. Jackson is smiling so widely, wider than I've seen, with his eyes pinched close in an obvious show of happiness - clearly feeling the same freedom that I am. I cling to him, moving my feet in time with the quick beat, and gasp as he takes me by surprise and dips me low.
He holds the back of my neck and stares deep into my eyes, and if my breath was lost before, it's long gone now. With a half-smile, he takes his time looking at my lips, then brings me slowly to my feet as the song ends.
He opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes catch on something over my shoulder before he can. I follow his gaze and spot someone large and hulking standing at the top of the stairs, looking down here - looking for someone.
Looking for us. It's Milnard, the Avery security guard.
"Go," Jackson says, a lightness to his tone. "We have to go!"
With our fingers locked together, we fly through the thick crowd in the third class lounge until we make it to the door that leads up and out. Jackson doesn't know his way around these halls - so I use what little knowledge I have of the layout of the ship to get us somewhere far from where Milnard spotted us - somewhere that will take him much longer to reach. The promenade, where I've made a habit of escaping.
When the cool night air hits, Jackson and I are breathless and laughing uncontrollably. We stumble onto the deck, our dress shoes clacking loudly against the pine. "Did you see his face?" Jackson says, doubling over with amusement. "He doesn't know what to make of me now."
He wraps his arms low around my back and pulls me in for a tight hug, one that I hadn't expected. I lace my fingers together - lock them, really - behind his neck and press my face to his warm skin, breathing in the clean, masculine scent of him.
"Now that I met you, I'm different," he says, pulling away to look me in the eyes.
"Everything is different," I say, arching towards him as he places pressure on the small of my back. "Everything."
He nods, then breaks the moment by unraveling himself and holding my hand to lead me somewhere - I'm not sure where. But as we get closer, I realize he's taking me to the bow of the ship, where all there is to be seen beyond it is black ocean, black sky, and pinpricks of white stars.
"Jackson," I mutter, apprehensive.
"Trust me," he says. "Do you trust me?"
I meet his eyes and fully mean it when I tell him yes.
He holds my waist firmly, his hands circling it as he stands behind me and positions my body at the bow, facing out. The view is otherworldly - amazing, unlike anything I've ever seen or ever will see.
"You're flying," he says, his lips pressed to my ear.
"Don't let go," I say, fingers trembling as I overlap his hands with mine.
"I'm never letting you go," he says, then turns me around to face him.
We lock eyes for only a moment, because there's no need to wait. We both know what's going to happen, what needs to happen. And when it finally does, it's perfect.
He kisses me and the whole world stops.