The extravagance of the room was beyond decadent.

There were three chandeliers this time and each sporting crystal shards more glittering than the rubies of some of the most prominent socialites in all of New York. Vine-like trimmings of the bronze stem made each light appear like a rose blossom, fastened tight by the stalk to the ceiling. Rose had attempted to burn their image into her brain to savor its beauty in the darkly anticipated moments to come.

Our heroine had found an opportune moment to slip away from the talons of her mother and glided with ease around the hall, a practiced smile in place to charm her on-lookers and to delight the company which she detested. 'Oh my, that ivy gown makes her look ravishing!' she would hear others whisper, many further instances of only slightly varied dialogue as she progressed. With her heart fluttering madly, she waited for the natural poise to kick in and take over, by striking up an easy conversation with someone, anyone, who would care to take her. Gradually, as she completed a full circle around the gigantic hall, a realisation came to be, that no one saw in her a young girl with vulnerable eyes:

What they saw, was a vision in ivy silk. A womanly grace wrought sensually with a milky complexion and flowing locks of a radiant fire.

Someone that perhaps, was too untouchable to mingle with, she read in their faces as they turned away from her - engrossed by concerns that affected only themselves and their similar friends.

And then, she wondered if this was her fault.

Could it be anyone else's that her circle of friends were so self-involved; so few - that all that was really left in her stead was a porcelain doll with fine hair and a pretty dress?

Who here, was someone that she could call a friend?

Who here, cared even for one moment about the shards piercing the delicate flesh of her heart?

She laced her fingers tightly together, as Ruth smilingly clawed at her daughter's arm again, with a feigned fragility that trained actors would have trouble discerning.

Rose inattentively spotted Cal, sporting an amused smirk with his infamously supple lips. It was no secret, the sordid affairs he'd enjoyed with multiple women of considerable social bearing - none were claimed in a forth-right manner Rose keenly observed, but rather enunciated by the smolder of their trailing eyes and the gravelly husk in their tones when he strutted near, under the guise of innocent conversation.

She found him rigid. And there was nothing more that brought a terrible pitch of excitement to her blood than challenging the one that sought to suppress her. She watched him take his time to make his way over to their party of family members, with all the glory of a first prize winner. She felt the ripples in her blood and reigned them in, privy to the total destruction that they would leave in her wake.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to take you away from your festivities for a moment with an exciting announcement,' A booming voice said somewhere to Rose's left,'It is my greatest pleasure to officially declare the coming of a more auspicious event than this wonderful Autumn Ball.' The whispering in the huge hall grew to imitate a howling wind through the cracks of a broken window. To Rose's ears they sounded hostile and cold- none of the joy and warm wishes a wedding announcement should have inspired. 'In fact, it is the joining of two impeccable families, both alike in fortune and circumstance and dare I say more in the coming weeks! I want you all to join me in a toast! congratulations Caledon, and his beautiful bride-to-be, Rose Dewitt Bukater! We wish you every happiness in your new life together!'

The applause was overbearing; the next thing Rose knew, she was shaking hands with none other than Hartley Senior.

'A damned pleasure to finally converse with our lovely young, Rose.' He said puffing a cigar jovially, still rolling her fingers with his wrinkled thumb. His black waist coat expanded over his belly where dangled a gold chained pocket watch. Rose blanched internally over the continued sound of applause.

'And you, Mr. Hartley.'

'Ruth, you ought to be proud of yourself - you did a fine job with her!' he went on, leaning a little closer,' Cal couldn't be more thrilled with his chosen wife-to-be!' Rose's eyes became blue saucers as his chocolatey eyes glinted.

'as you'll find out soon enough.' He added rather cheekily, much to Rose's sudden nausea.

'I think I need a drink...'

'What was that, Miss Rose?' The older hartley frowned as he peered down at the pale goddess before him.

'I said I need some air, I think, Mr. Hartley,' she hoped her hasty smile fooled him,' I am a little flushed this evening, I just need a moment to myself. Excuse me.'

Bowing out gracefully before Ruth could call her back, Rose rushed through a smaller corridor, lined with long mirrors framed in bronze. The sounds of the band playing in the hall dulled to faint wisps, and the dancing crystals dimming in radiance with every retreating step.

The small parlour room she found herself thrown into - with a barely retrained haste, was cosily kept warm by a warming fire place. The lady released a staggering sigh as she shuffled toward it.

How long did she have ?

five minutes?

maybe eight before Ruth would send someone after her . . .

Would she ever have a moment's peace?

As she began to loosen her hair from its fetter, she shook her locks out and let them glow with the fiery touch of the blaze.

Ca-click.

the sound echoed just perceptibly over the cackle of burning embers.

But Rose wasn't ready to go without a fight, and she'd be damned if she didn't strut out of there with her head held high, and on her own terms.

'Inform my mother that I'll join her soon. Kindly close the door on your way out.' She said with all the finality she could muster.

'I'll be sure and tell the waiter on the way out...' came an amused sarcasm that would have riled her, had she not realized his voice at once.

'Jack!' she gasped, turning with a swish of her hair,'what on earth are you doing here?'

He stood there in a borrowed tux she presumed, as it was a crisp white and accompanied by perfect black bow tie. His head was bowed, as if in shame, with his hands buried deep in his pockets. However she gleaned from the way he looked up at her, with those beautiful sky coloured flints - that he was far from apologizing. It was just like him.

'Would you believe me if I said I was invited?' he asked innocently, moving toward the large sofa before the fire.

'Hardly.'

'I figured as much. . .' He told her,'Actually, a friend of mine got me in as kitchen staff. Just for a quick buck - It's not too tough. Puts food on the table, I guess. I worked tonight since I thought you might be at this shindig.'

Rose glanced at his weathered shoes and back up again, trying not to react to his words. 'I see.' She turned back around and looked into the reflection of the mirror hanging above the fire place and continued to remove her hair pins.

They sat in silence for a few seconds before Jack sought to break its uncomfortable clasp on them. 'So, you're getting married.'

Rose's hands hesitated over her free locks before lowering to her sides. She turned to him and smiled.

'Of course, didn't I tell you the other day? - it must of slipped my mind...' She tried to orchestrate some kind of pleasant feeling about it and hoped reverently that he was seeing it. 'His name is Cal Hartley.'

'Hartley as in the oil tycoon?' He asked as if surprised. When she nodded he shook his head as he tried to find the words - he rose to his feet,'Thats...wow - I guess, ah...congratulations!'

'Thank you, its very happy news.' They shook hands, and both felt extremely foolish - though probably not for the same reasons.

Jack felt a throbbing in his throat from the words he tried not to say. From the question he tries not to ask; and yet it spills out sneakily, too quick for him to stop it, and too late for him to ever take back.

'Do you love him?'

'...'Rose is bewildered beyond words at his heavy question. His eyes are fixed on her face and staring determinedly at her watery ones, they want nothing more than to flood away from him and his almost instinctive questioning about difficult things. 'I beg your pardon, I don't believe you asked me that question!'

'It's a simple question.' His eyebrows shot up as he asked her again,'I just wanna know: do you love him?'

'Ughh, Jack, you just can't barge in on people and ask them questions like that! its rude and personal and totally inappropriate-'

'so that's a no, then?' Jack said turning away, unable to conceal a slight smirk. Rose hurried around him and halted his self righteous swagger.

'Just what is your problem? what is it any of your concern, whether I'm in love or not - or indeed whether I'm getting married or not? you're nothing but a stranger!' she took a step toward him, and he took a startled step back.

'I'm just curious is all; just a curious spectator - i didn't know you'd get so riled up about it!' he raised his palms up much to Rose's further outrage.

'RILED UP! I am not riled! I am a lady who just simply does not have time for little boys with more arrogance than- Ah!' just as she stepped forwards, a raised piece of rug caught her heeled foot and threw her forward into the lean torso of the man before her. Almost catching her by the shoulders, Jack lost his step and followed her down. Almost on top of her, he eased off slightly and looked intently at the strip of hair lying across her face. Her eyes were still closed. He wondered vaguely why and fingered the impediment of his view...

Why was she in such a mess? ignoring the fact that she was on the floor beneath the single most charming boy she'd ever met, who incidentally was not her fiance, she was the daughter of a fumbling alcoholic who sold her off into slavery to a selfish man who was out for glory and with all the moral support of a demonically materialistic mother. Fantastic...

Jack smiled slightly as her forehead creased in the middle, like how he remembered it. Since she did not order his quick bodily removal, he thought he would lay there, for as long as she would have him.

Okay,

Maybe they were being inappropriate. . .

Maybe they were over stepping a few boundaries. . .

Maybe he should of left this married woman alone. . .

And then, she opened her eyes.

He saw a gleam of the desolation she pretended that was resolve. His long fair coloured bangs hung like curtains over their faces. It blocked out the fine furniture around them, the grandeur of their room. All that existed was the other person. And, he leaned down very slowly. Watching her eyes carefully as he went, looking for any sign of resistance.

But, there was none.

And their lips met in perfect kiss.