Rose sat in her room at her vanity, brushing out her long, red curls, daydreaming about Jack. She hummed to her reflection as she brushed her hair and closed her eyes as she did, pretending that the teeth of her brush were Jack's fingers running through her hair. Oh, how she loved him! She was desperate to see him and desired his touch and his kiss upon her lips, her cheeks—anywhere would satisfy her.
She opened her eyes and rested her hand on her growing stomach, wishing that Jack was the one rubbing his hand gently on her stomach and not her. She loved her child and knew that her child loved her. She hoped that when she told Jack he would love their child as well. She'd be heartbroken if he didn't. She hummed a familiar tune she'd heard aboard the Titanic, a tune that the band had played while the ship was sinking. She recalled the two of them running past them when they were playing this song. Jack had bumped into one of the violinists and they had stopped as Jack pulled her past them.
Rose stood up and walked to her closet, searching for the perfect dress to wear today. Her father, Joseph Bukater, was making plans for them to meet with his business partner, Henry Sherman, and his twin sons, James and Charles Sherman. She had once glimpsed James Sherman–or maybe it was Charles. She didn't know. They were identical–Rose had seen them once and couldn't help but blush. He was an attractive young man of nineteen years old with light, reddish-blonde hair and sweet blue-green eyes. He had a kind smile, and then his obnoxious brother had come up behind him and begun teasing him about his flushed cheeks. No, she didn't love James or Charles or whoever it was she was blushing at. She loved Jack, and now that she knew he was alive, she refused to deem another man attractive.
She picked out a fancy day dress that was an eggshell color with pink roses embroidering the bodice and hem of the dress. It had a lace underskirt and its cuffs were decorated in ornate lace as well. She was fond of this dress, though it was not her favorite. She chose to wear her favorite when she reunited with her beloved Jack. Even though she knew he didn't care what she wore or how she wore her hair, she wanted to look beautiful for him.
"Nancy!" she called to one of the house's maids. "Please help me with my corset." Nancy, a small, young maid with curly brown hair pinned neatly in a bun beneath her cap, rushed in to lace her corset.
"Miss Rose, I hate to be critical, but these corsets have been said to cause miscarriages," Nancy told her. Rose gasped when she heard the word miscarriage.
"Can it? Oh, I do not wish to lose my child…untie it, please, and I will find my brassiere instead," Rose told her. Nancy did as she was told, rushing out of the room to give Rose her privacy. Rose pulled her corset off and headed back into the closet to find her brassiere, which was lying on a small table. She pulled it on and slipped on her dress, smiling at her reflection in her full-length mirror. She knew what Jack would say if he saw it.
“You look beautiful, Rose, but then again, you always do.”
She dropped her smile and got a distant look in her eyes as she thought of him, but perked up, thankful that he was alive and that soon she'd be enveloped in his strong, safe arms.
Rose emerged from the closet and sat on her bed, remembering all the times Jack had made her feel equal with the world. Meeting Jack, those deep, soul-penetrating blue eyes of his…she remembered their warm, loving glow perfectly. When she had looked into his eyes, she had known instantly that everything was going to be all right.
The dance that she had danced with Jack was certainly something she'd never forget. His sweet, warm grin with an aura of love…a smile she yearned for desperately, a smile that told her not to worry, that she should smile no matter how frightened. His smile had boosted her courage that night.
Meeting with Jack in the gymnasium aboard the ship was a meeting that had told her he loved her. He had told her, in other words, that he loved her as he had locked his gaze with hers and held her face in his hand. That warm touch soothed Rose still when she thought of him, told her to trust him with her life. And she had.
She had been falling in love with Jack, though she knew she already had. She remembered vividly how they had confirmed their love with Rose's trust of him and a kiss that had seemed to go on for hours. His kiss had warmed her entire body, though the biting wind had chilled her that day. She had been safe in his arms, and his kiss still shone on her lips. She often smiled when this memory scrolled across her mind.
Having Jack draw her like one of his French girls had been the second most climactic moment of her life, next to their time in the Renault. She had watched him carefully as he captured every detail of her body, perfecting every shadow, curve, and crevice of it. She had been shy at first, but had grown comfortable in mere seconds. She had seen that Jack was nervous, had seen that he was blushing, wanting to impress her in every way he could. But Rose hadn't cared. All he had to do was be himself for her to be satisfied.
Running away with Jack, symbolizing her freedom, she and Jack had run hand-in-hand through the Titanic away from her fiancé, Caledon Hockley's, valet, Spicer Lovejoy, escaping into the boiler room. From then on, she knew that Jack had freed her from her gilded cage, and she was willing to go anywhere with him.
Making love to Jack in the back of the Carter family's vintage Renault—if nothing before had confirmed their love, that certainly did. To the stars they went, or so Rose had called it. He had made her warm in that cold room. Despite being the proper girl that she was at that time, she hadn't even cared who had seen them. All she had wanted was Jack, her Jack, the man she loved desperately. After all, she had told him that she was getting off of the ship with him, which she wished she had done, but they were separated beneath the water.
Rescuing Jack from the Atlantic's wrath was something else that had proved her love for him. She didn't care about how cold the water was or if she was ruining her fancy silk dress. All she had wanted was Jack Dawson safe in her arms again. She had been upset with him when he had tried to force her off of the ship and into a lifeboat. When she had looked up into his sad, love-filled blue gaze, her heart had broken. She had known that if she didn't jump off of that ship by the next railing, she would never see those blue eyes again. So, at her next chance, she had leaped out of the lifeboat and raced to Jack, who had swept her into his strong arms. From then on, he had known that Rose loved him enough to die for him.
Losing Jack was something she despised most of all. She hated the thought that her beloved Jack was dead, and was grateful that he had survived the horrid sinking. She was desperate to know how he had…he must have found something to float on, as she had herself. Tears began to form in her eyes as she thought of him not being with her.
A knock on her door disrupted her thoughts. Her father entered. He was a tall man in his forties with dark hair beginning to gray and deep hazel eyes that dazzled everyone. Of course, her beloved's piercing blue eyes surpassed her father's.
"Rosebud, the luncheon is at two this afternoon, so you have no need to hurry unless you plan on going someplace," Joseph informed his daughter.
"Oh, I had no intention of leaving, for the Broadway is closed for the day and Lynette is quite busy in the saloon," Rose replied, standing up. Joseph nodded.
"I just thought I would inform you, my dear," he said. "Well, if you need me, I shall be in my office, trying to figure out what the world wants to see in advertisements for our company. Unless you need me, I shall see you this afternoon."
"Yes, Father," Rose told him, her hands behind her back. Joseph nodded to her as he left her bedroom, closing the door behind him.