JACKSON
APRIL 11, 1912
April Grace smells like clean soap and vanilla. With her slight body wrapped in my arms and her hair blowing around both of our heads in the sea breeze, I'm completely caught up in her and I don't ever want this moment to end.
It does, though, eventually, because we need air. When I slowly pull my face from hers, I watch her mossy green eyes open and wish that I could memorize the flecks of color inside them - the browns, the hazels, the golds. Hues and shades I've never seen, and it only makes sense that they belong to her.
"Wow," she whispers, a fine blush dusting the apples of her cheeks.
I barely let a beat pass before kissing her again. I keep a firm grip on her back, feeling the hard shell of her corset, and inhale deeply with my lips pressed to hers. There's something innately sweet about the way she tastes, something unrefined and natural, like wild honeysuckle - and I find myself wanting to absorb her, to consume her, so I'll always have her.
Suddenly, the worst thing I can imagine is April Grace leaving me. We met for the first time just last night, yet I've known her forever. It only makes sense that I've known her forever - somehow. There's no way I could feel this way about someone I've just happened on.
Our kiss breaks again, but I don't open my eyes this time. Instead, I kiss the corner of her mouth, the angle of her powder-dusted jaw, and the hollow under her ear. Her skin has a chill to it, thanks to this wind, and the peach fuzz on its surface rises underneath my lips.
I feel her pulse as I shift to her neck, beating hard and unconstrained as I kiss her throat. Her hands trace patterns down my back, over my shoulder blades and lower, until she comes to rest with her arms looped around my waist.
To keep myself from going too far - we are in public, after all - I stand up straight and catch my breath. I find that her pupils are dilated, turning those mossy eyes nearly black, and her chest heaves as she looks at me.
I'm feeling too much to process - everything at once - and it would be overwhelming if it weren't so intoxicating. For the first time, I understand what it's like to want to be alive.
The closest I've gotten to this feeling in my two decades on earth is when I'm playing music. Looking at April in the dim lighting of the promenade as the ocean crashes far below makes me feel the way music does.
She is music. Everything about her is a song. The bow of her lips, the flames in her hair, the soft rhythm of her fingers on my skin - all of it culminates into a perfect sonata. And here she is in front of me, in my arms, allowing me to listen.
Her smile grows and brightens her already-beaming face, and I pull her close again. This time, I move slower, cupping her fine jaw with both hands before pressing my lips to hers in a slow, meaningful kiss. She stands on tiptoes as she kisses me back and holds my face much in the way I'm holding hers, then pulls away to stroke my cheeks with her thumbs.
"Jackson," she whispers, her fingers still moving on my face.
"Hmm."
She searches my face with her gaze. Her eyes come to rest on my lips, and it's only a moment before she leans in again and kisses me with heady passion, throwing her arms over my shoulders so our chests are pressed close together.
Though the corset that Addison Montgomery lent her looks fantastic, all I can think is that I wish it were gone. I want to feel her body - I want to feel her breasts against me; I can see the swells now, lifted because of how tightly she's laced, but I want more. I want to touch them, touch her, feel her. Have her. Know her.
I take a few steps until we reach the railing, and when she gently runs into it with her back, she turns her head, separates our mouths, and peers over the edge. "Wow," she says.
"Careful," I say.
She takes one of my arms and winds it around her back, and I hold her firmly, securely, with my hand on her opposite hip. She relaxes against me, both elbows on the railing with her right shoulder pressed to my body.
"Tell me something," she says, staring at the water.
I study her profile - the graceful swoop of her eyelashes, the subtle slope of her nose that ends in a sweet, round button. The pout of her lips, parted slightly, as the wind buffets us both.
"The ship really is unsinkable," I say. "So much so that there are only 16 lifeboats. 12 full and 4 collapsible. Nothing could take us down - nothing. The number of lifeboats showcase the utmost confidence in that statement."
"You know so much," she says, blinking slowly. The stars are bright above us, glowing in the pitch-black sky, and their image reflects clearly on the water in a way I've never seen. April seems to be enamored by the sight as well.
"I have too much time to spare," I say, ashamed to say it. I should have found something to do with my life by now, some way to make a name for myself other than becoming overshadowed by my surname alone. But I haven't. I spend plenty of time playing my violin, but my father never wastes a chance to tell me that there's no living in that.
"You must do a lot of thinking," she says, glancing over for a moment before turning back to the water.
"I suppose," I say. "How can you tell?"
"I just can," she says. "I spend quite a lot of time thinking, too."
She lifts her gaze up from the water to look at the sky, and the stars shine in her eyes. There's never been another like her, that I can say with confidence.
"I always have," she says. "I would get into the deepest spells while polishing Mrs. Ward's silver - always on Mondays."
"Where would your mind go?" I ask.
"Everywhere," she says dreamily. "I thought about mine and my sister's lives back in the city, New York City. That's where we're from. That's where we're headed, to meet our mother." She pauses for a long moment, tracing the intricate designs of the railing under her palms. "It's been three years." She turns to look at me. "Have you noticed Lottie's accent?"
I nod. "Is it from Southampton?"
"Yes," she says. "Mrs. Ward's estate is all she knows. She can't remember anything about the city, or our mother. She thinks that Ceci and I have accents, and she doesn't." April Grace smiles softly. "One day, it will leave her, and it will be strange not to hear her sound the way she does now. The last reminder of our life in Southampton will disappear, and that's odd to consider." She meets my eyes. "These are the things I think about. Back in the city, when Lottie was small, I played violin on the street while Ceci sold roses…"
She continues, telling me a story that lights up her face. But I've stopped listening. The street? The three of them were homeless, and she's sharing the story with a sweet grin and light in her eyes?
My life has been cushioned and comfortable compared to hers. Listening to April Grace's strife makes me rethink everything I've considered a hardship and forces me to put my life into perspective. I've spent years feeling lost and directionless, but what are those feelings juxtaposed to surviving on the cold city streets, surviving off of the pity of strangers?
My mind doesn't clear even when she's finished speaking, and I can't tear my eyes from her open face. "What?" she says.
"You deserve so much more than what you've been dealt," I say, the words erupting from deep within me, leaving before I have a chance to moderate them.
But once they bubble to the surface, I don't regret saying them. I take her gloved hands, both of them, and bring them to my lips to kiss her delicate fingers.
"Can I give it to you?" I ask.
She doesn't hesitate when she answers. With her eyes locked on mine, she tells me, "Yes."
…
Arm in arm, I lead April Grace to B-Deck, where my stateroom is located.
"Jackson," she whispers, keeping her voice low as we walk down the hall. "I shouldn't be here."
"Yes, you should," I say confidently. I stop at the door of my cabin, B-54, and unlock it. Once the door closes, I breathe a sigh of relief. We're officially safe from Milnard now, as he wouldn't dare breach the privacy of my room.
As I lock the door behind us, April Grace takes a few steps inside and looks around. She doesn't say anything, not at first, but I can sense reverence in her silence. When I turn around, she's running a hand along the horsehair sofa, the clear glass of the end table, and the gilded wallpaper. She touches everything with care, like she's afraid she might break it.
Then, she catches me watching her. "I'm sorry," she says, bringing the hand back to her side.
"I don't mind," I say. "It's too extravagant, I know. It's a lot to take in."
Her green eyes travel the entire room, not missing a single piece of furniture or small detail. If anything, she fits in as she still wears the powder blue dress, intricate hairstyle, and pretty white shoes that she was loaned.
"Even Mrs. Ward's things weren't this lovely," she says, still observing all the fine features of the room. Her eyes catch on the open door of the bath, and when she pauses on the clawfoot tub, she brightens. "You have a tub," she says.
"You don't?" I ask.
As soon as the words leave my lips, a brilliant red blush blooms on her face and I regret speaking at all. This is what I know, this privilege. I don't commonly spend time with people with less money than I have, because that's how I was raised, those are the spaces I frequent. Still, though, there is no excuse for such poor taste.
"I'm sorry," I say, shaking my head while looking down at the plush carpeting. "That was insensitive. Forgive me."
"I don't mind," she says, taking a few tentative steps closer to the ivory tub. "On F-Deck, there are only two baths for us to use. So, seeing this was a bit of a shock." She smiles good-naturedly and pushes a curl out of her eyes. "Mrs. Ward had one in her private suite. Ceci, Lottie, and I used something a bit different."
I spend a while studying her, searching her face for what - I'm not sure. If I were in her position, I'm sure I would be morose, angry about being so down on my luck. But she blames no one. She seems not to have ill will towards any living thing in the world.
"I haven't used it," I say. I used the sink to wash up this morning. "Would you… would you like to?"
April Grace raises her eyebrows, those thin red eyebrows, and presses a soft hand to her chest. "Oh," she says, her voice faltering in her throat. "I couldn't."
Her words say one thing, but she still hasn't torn her eyes away from the tub.
"Are you sure?" I ask.
"I… I couldn't," she says, repeating herself and shaking her head. "You'd be doing me too much of a favor. I'm not anyone's charity case."
"Never," I say, frowning slightly. "I don't see you that way at all."
"I…" she says, then presses the pads of her fingers to her painted lips. She meets my eyes for a long moment, holding my gaze with more heat than anything I've ever felt, and neither of us blink. "It wouldn't feel like charity if we…" she trails off, never finishing her thought.
She doesn't need to, though. I know what she's thinking. And, as soon as she expresses it, I can't get the image out of my mind.
I hope she won't mind my finishing her sentence. "Took a bath together?" I say, keeping my voice low.
"Yes," she says, and turns red from the open plane of her chest to the tips of her ears. "Is that absurd to say?"
"Not at all," I say.
"Are we alone?" she asks. "For good, I mean?"
"Yes," I say, then check the lock on the door to make sure. It's turned, and I'm the only one with a key. "We're alone."
She nods, worrying her lower lip with her teeth in a way that makes my body respond. "I'll start the water," I tell her. "Fresh, or salt?"
"Fresh, please," she says. "The salt makes my skin itch."
I chuckle quietly and head to the bathroom. "Me, too," I say. "I'll meet you there."
It's not far to the bathroom, and I can still see her where she stands, slowly undressing by my bedside. As I turn the faucet, she starts with her gloves, pulling them off finger by finger, and lays them flat over the back of a chair. From there, she steps out of her shoes and shrinks slightly, but not by much, before glancing over her shoulder and meeting my eyes.
I've been caught, but she doesn't seem to mind. "I need help," she says. "The buttons… and my corset."
I take a deep, cleansing breath as I get to my feet and let the water continue to fill. April Grace turns her back and dips her head, moving her hair out of the way so I have full access to the line of buttons down her back.
I run my fingers over them first, taking my time in reaching the end and following the subtle curve of her back. Then, I work my hand back up and start at the top, carefully undoing each button until both halves of the dress splay open and the bones of her corset are bare before me.
She slips her arms out of the dress and allows it to fall to the ground, but she doesn't let it stay. She handles it cautiously, conscious of the fact that it doesn't belong to her, and drapes it over the gloves.
Turning back around, she gives me full access to the bow at the top of her corset, located between her shoulder blades and tied with an expert hand. "Can I?" I ask.
She nods and says, "Yes."
She quivers when I touch her, when I run my fingertips along her bare skin. Goosebumps rise, as do the fine hairs at the nape of her neck, as I tug on the string that keeps her corset tied so tightly.
As it comes undone, she exhales - long and smooth. I take my time, as this is something I've never done before, but even if I were practiced, I would still want to soak in this moment.
I spread the slack evenly, tugging on the sides to loosen the ribbon that keeps the corset together. Once it's loose enough, she turns around and lifts her chin to look directly into my eyes, then runs one hand down the line of buttons on the front.
"These, too," she whispers.
"You want me to…?" I ask, unsure of what she means - I don't want to take this too far.
She says, "Yes."
With slightly unsteady hands, I start by untying the bow under her breasts, tucked between them and tied decoratively. I pull the string and allow my gaze to travel upwards, studying the creamy skin of her exposed collarbones and the faint blush that colors her complexion. When I undo the first button, her breath hitches and it spurs me to continue.
I unbutton her corset in a straight line and, before long, it comes apart and she's left in a slip - a very thin slip, one that I can see right through.
"Thank you," she says, running her hands down her body as if she's getting used to the feeling of being without a corset again. "Should we check the water?"
"Right," I say, blinking hard. I had been so taken with her that the tub almost slipped my mind. "It should be nearly ready."
I lead the way to the bath and sense April Grace following me. The room is steamed and warm, the mirror foggy with condensation, with the water just the right temperature. I make quick eye contact with her as she stands at the vanity, slowly undoing the baubles and pins from her intricate hairstyle while I shed my clothes.
I've never been naked in front of a woman before, and I don't think April Grace has been bare in front of a man. There's a sense of knowing in the air - I feel it so strongly that I don't have the urge to ask.
I undress down to nothing and step into the large tub first, resting against the back as she finishes. She shakes her long, thick hair out around her shoulders, the natural curls coming alive as they've been freed, then pushes the straps of her slip over her shoulders until the wispy fabric comes to rest in a puddle on the bathroom floor.
Then, she's nude. I don't bother pretending not to stare -at the birdlike jut of her shoulder blades, the dip of her waist, the subtle swell of her backside, her long, lean legs. When she turns around, the view only improves.
"Hi," she says shyly, crossing one arm in front of her chest to hold the opposite elbow.
I smile, then make room for her. "Join me," I say.
Carefully, she slips into the tub and I watch every move she makes; how her muscles glide under her flawless skin, how her hair fans out and darkens once it meets the surface of the water.
For a fleeting second, I'm concerned that she'll be uncomfortable - but she is anything but. Though neither of us have ever been intimate in such a way with someone else, it's like our bodies know what to do with one another. Mine with hers and hers with mine. We fit together like we were made for each other; my form wraps around hers with ease and she leans against me like she's been doing it for years.
When April Grace rests her head on my shoulder, I close my eyes and press my lips to the side of her face. While kissing her dewy skin, I slip my hands under the water and drag my fingers up and down her thighs, gently scratching the skin with my blunt nails.
"Oh," she whimpers, and her back arches, curving so her chest lifts and her breasts are put on display. Her nipples are colored a dusky pink and risen to peaks, half in the water and half out of it - her skin pebbling against the slightly cooler open air.
I continue the movement of my hands and lower my mouth to the round of her shoulder, parting my lips to run my tongue over her skin. I press slow, wet kisses to the side of her neck, combing her hair out of the way and letting one hand slide upwards, moving through the water until I reach her breast.
I cup it in my hand and let out a long breath, enjoying the subtle weight in my palm. I trace the perfectly-curved underside, then draw a circle around her nipple with my fingernail, which makes her head lie heavier atop my shoulder.
She turns her head and kisses me on the mouth, holding my jaw as I give in and tease her nipple with the pad of my thumb. She lets a breathy moan escape, sighing against my lips, and I take that opportunity to slip my other hand between her thighs to touch the very center of her.
When I do, she whines with her eyes wide open, directed at the ornate designs on the ceiling. "Jackson," she whispers.
"Yes?"
She brings her eyes down to mine and kisses me hard. "Don't stop," she says, and lets her thighs fall apart further, spreading wide.
I obey her words and continue the movement of my fingers. I'm not entirely sure of what I'm doing, but the sounds she makes let me know what's right and what to do more of.
The inside of her body is incredibly hot. Not just warm. Hot. When my fingers sink inside her, her muscles constrict and her eyelashes flutter, and I wrap my free arm tight around her waist. I want her closer. It's not possible, but it's what I want.
I pump my hand, moving deftly, and lower my mouth to the curve of her neck as I work her into a frenzied state. When she says my name, it's like a prayer, the most precious one I've ever heard. Now that it's passed her lips, I never want to hear anyone else say it. Only her, forever.
"Just like that," she pants, gripping my wrist with clumsy fingers as my hand continues to work. "Just like that, Jackson, just like that."
My thumb brushes something that makes her jerk backwards, her body forcing mine against the cool porcelain of the tub. I smirk to myself and touch it again, that same spot, and she comes completely unwound.
I would do anything to bottle the sounds she makes. At first, she keeps her lips clamped tightly together as a moan builds in her throat, so when she finally allows them to part, her voice tumbles from her body in long, drawn-out sighs and whimpers and mewls. I can feel her heart pounding from deep inside her body, and I still haven't let go of her breast - even as she collapses against me and tries with all her might to catch her breath.
It does eventually come back, and when it does, she sits up and turns around. For a quick moment, I'm left without the heat of her body, but she doesn't leave me for long. Instead, she winds her arms around my neck and kisses me hard, curving her body so her bare chest is pressed to my bare chest, and straddles my lap with one knee on either side of my hips.
I hadn't expected her to touch me, so when she slides a hand between my thighs, my eyes shoot open in surprise. From that reaction, she blanches, too.
"Did I go too far?" she asks. Her cheeks are pink, bright pink, from her continued state of arousal, being overheated, or feeling embarrassed - I can't be sure. Perhaps a combination of all three.
"No," I say, shaking my head. "You can touch me. I liked it. I liked it… very much."
With a sweet smile, she tilts her head to kiss me, then speaks against my lips. "I like you very much," she whispers, then closes her hand around my penis and pumps it slowly.
The feeling is euphoric - beyond anything I've ever experienced. With her small, soft fingers gripping me, moving in time with my breath, and the way she's kissing every inch of my skin, I can't stave off my orgasm for longer than a few moments.
As it happens, I pull her in and kiss her roughly, holding the back of her neck with a strong grip. When we break apart, my chest is heaving and my whole body feels different than ever before.
"You're trembling," she says, bringing my hand to her lips.
She kisses my fingertips slowly, pressing the pad of each one to her plush lips while looking deep into my eyes. "I'll be all right," I say, and for the first time, I truly mean it.
…
I wrap myself in a robe and find an extra for April Grace when we leave the bathroom. The room is still steamy and warm, so neither of us feel the need to wear much more.
As I watch her tie the sash at her waist, I gather the courage to act on an idea that has been incubating in my mind for the last few hours. "I have a gift for you," I tell her.
She looks up, her hands still poised at her waist as she finishes tying. "Jackson, no," she says. "I don't need any gifts."
"Please," I say. "I want to give this to you. No, I need to give this to you."
She gives me permission with her eyes and watches me cross to the safe at the far wall. I spin the lock, putting in the correct combination, then pull out a long, thin velvet box from just inside it. When I turn, her gaze is heavy on the box and she gasps as I open it and present its contents to her.
"Jackson…" she breathes, shaking her head.
"It's meant for the woman I'm going to marry," I say, placing due weight on each word as I say it. "Will you wear it?"
She takes a short, sharp inhale that makes the tendons of her neck stand out, then stares at the necklace. With three thin rows of round, sparkling diamonds, it is about 30 carats - but still as lightweight as they come.
My heart pounds in my throat, and the room seems much hotter than it did just moments ago. We may have only just met, but I trust this feeling - and I know she does, too.
"Yes," she finally says, taking a step towards me to take a closer look. "Yes, I'll wear it."
We lock eyes and spend a moment there, reading the other's thoughts. I've never believed in soulmates, but it was only possible to hold that thought before April Grace came into my life. Now, knowing her, I'd be stupid to think she is anything less than 'the one.'
She is my one. My only. That, I am very sure of.
She turns around and moves her hair to one shoulder, and I lift my arms over her head to place the necklace in its rightful place, on its rightful owner. It fits her perfectly, and as I close the small clasp, I press a kiss to the base of her neck and rest my lips there for a long moment, telling her without words everything that I'm thinking.
That she is my one. My only. Forever.
...
April Grace and I want nothing more than to spend the night together, but with the chance of my mother knocking on my stateroom door in the morning and April Grace's sisters missing her, we can't risk it.
As she wears a haphazard, unkempt mix of her dinner clothes, I walk her down to F-Deck with our fingers intertwined. "I don't want to leave you," she whispers, standing on her tiptoes to lean against my chest, arms thrown over my shoulders.
I hold her tightly, my hands resting at the dip of her spine, and give her body a squeeze as I kiss her. "I know," I say.
"Come to church with us tomorrow," she says. Tomorrow is Friday, but there are church services every day on the ship. "Third class service."
"All right," I say, though I've never attended church service of any kind.
"Meet us in the Third Class General Room," she says, gently touching the sides of my neck with her cool fingertips. "That's where they hold service, I think. At 9am."
"I'll be there," I say, then tuck her hair behind her ears and move to kiss her once more when the door to F-70 comes creaking open.
"Gracie?" a small voice says, then Lottie appears, looking mussed and a bit disheveled in a white nightgown and matching bonnet.
Instantly, April Grace turns and kneels to the ground. "Mopsy!" she says. "What are you doing up?"
"I couldn't sleep," Lottie says, rubbing her eyes with her little fist. She squints against the light of the hall, blinking at me like she isn't sure who she's looking at.
"Too ready to dance the rest of the night away?" I ask, which gets a smile out of her and a blush, too.
"It's too late for dancing," she says, grinning a bit wider.
"Pardon me, Lady Lottie," I say, bowing slightly. "How foolish of me to assume."
Lottie clings to April Grace's skirt, clutching two fistfuls of it as she peers around her sister's legs. Then, she lifts her face to look at April Grace and says, "He's being silly, Gracie."
"Yes, he is," April Grace says, then casts her shining eyes in my direction. "Should we wish this silly boy goodnight and head to bed?"
Lottie nods and gives me a tiny wave, then rests one hand on their cabin door while keeping a tight hold on April Grace's fingers with the other. "Good night, Jackson," she says quietly.
"Sweet dreams, Lottie."
While still holding her sister's hand, April Grace leans in and speaks close to my ear. "Good night, my love," she whispers, then kisses my cheek before disappearing into cabin F-70.
…
APRIL 12, 1912
The next morning, I'm waiting for the Kepner sisters when they arrive at the Third Class General Room just before 9am. I open the door for the three of them, then offer to take Lottie's hand and lead her inside like a true gentleman should. Lottie titters, amused over being treated like a girl much older, and tugs on April Grace's skirt so she'll notice - though April Grace was already looking.
There are no pews, just lines of chairs set up to face a rudimentary stage, but we find our place all the same. As we do, I notice the glint of the diamond necklace placed strategically under April Grace's white blouse, hidden from everyone's eyes but my own.
As more and more people file in, Lottie stands on her tiptoes much in the way I've seen April Grace do. "I can't see," she hisses, pulling insistently on her sister's arm.
"It's all right, Lottie," April Grace says. "There's nothing to see. Just listen."
"I want to see."
"I have an idea," I say, then extend my arms for the little girl. "Shall I hold you, and make you taller?" I ask. "Only, of course, if you'll allow it."
Lottie giggles her famous giggle and nods, reaching for me. I lift her easily and settle her body on my hip, and she rests her folded hands on my shoulder while swinging her feet.
I feel April Grace's eyes, warm and amused, as she looks at her little sister and me. I meet her gaze and we exchange a look that involves more than words could say.
"If you don't know the words, you can read them here in the songbook," Lottie says, recapturing my attention. "See, Jackson?"
"I do see."
"We're going to sing this one first," she says, pointing to a page that she's opened. Just as she says the words, the congregation begins to sing.
"Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm does bind the restless wave,
Who bids the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea."
"If you don't want to read, you can just listen to me," Lottie says, looping a thin arm around the back of my neck to rest a hand on my opposite shoulder. "I know the words."
So, that's what I do. As she sings, I watch her face - more specifically, those round, ocean blue eyes that are bright with levity - as the hymn rings out in her clear, angelic voice.
"O Savior, whose almighty word
The winds and waves submissive heard,
Who walked upon the foaming deep,
And calm amid the rage did sleep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea."