Rose stood before her vanity, her heart racing. She reached up, carefully removing the butterfly comb from her thick red curls, shaking them loose about her shoulders. I must be losing my mind to be wanting to do this, she thought, walking over to the mahogany wardrobe. After fetching a dark blue silk kimono, she began to undress, revealing a slim figure that was clearly in no need of the tight corset she had been wearing that day.
The idea that she had nearly followed through by committing suicide two nights before seemed a distant memory, only a thing in the past. For the first time in years, she felt free. Once she wrapped the kimono around her naked body, she took a deep breath and prepared to step out of the room.
Jack sat in one of the sitting room chairs, sharpening his charcoal pencil. His cheeks were burning a little at the idea of doing a nude portrait of the woman he loved so much. Oh, sure, he'd drawn plenty of naked women before, but he had not had quite the same feelings for them as he had for Rose.
After a moment, he had to set the pencil down and rub his nose with the corner of his sleeve. The morning after he had saved Rose from jumping off the back of the Titanic, he had not been able to stop sneezing and coughing. I had to take my jacket off that night, he thought miserably. He'd been able to keep his cold symptoms at bay when Rose was around, but he had a bad feeling that wouldn't last very long.
"HuhChuuuh! EhShhhuh!" He sneezed into the crook of his arm, wishing he'd remembered a handkerchief. Just as he picked up his charcoal again, Rose opened the door. He looked at her, a soft smile on his slightly flushed face. She grinned back, twirling the sash of her kimono in circles.
"The last thing I need," she began as she walked towards him, "is another portrait of me looking like a porcelain doll." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a dime. "As a paying customer…" She tossed it to him, and he caught it. "…I expect to get what I want."
Jack watched as she removed the robe, and squirmed a little. My God, she's beautiful, he thought, clearing his scratchy, slightly sore throat. Rose stood waiting patiently for instruction, her green eyes shining. Jack took his sketchpad and sat up straight.
"Over on...the...the bed...erm...the couch," he corrected himself. Just as she lay down on it, he felt the tingle start in his nose again. Don't let me sneeze, he begged, trying to ignore it.
"Jack, are you all right?" Rose asked, noticing his strange expression.
"Ex...eh...eh...huhShhhhuh! EtShhhhuh!" His dirty blond bangs flopped into his eyes as his body snapped forward, and he groaned slightly at the throbbing pain in his sinuses.
"Bless you, Jack." Rose propped herself up on her elbow. "Are you coming down with something?" He did look a bit too pale for her liking this evening, and though she did not want to say anything before, she noticed his constant sniffles.
He shook his head. "No, Rose, I'm f-eh...heh..." He pinched his nose shut, trying to stall another sneeze.
Rose rolled her eyes with amusement as his cheeks reddened. "I don't mind if you sneeze, Jack. It's better to let them out, or you'll hurt your ears."
Jack removed his hand. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I think I am coming down with a cold." He began to decide on the best position for her to lay in for the portrait, not wanting her to be uncomfortable.
"How would you like me to pose, Jack?" she asked after a moment or two of silence.
"Keep your left arm the way it is," he told her. "And...head down...eyes to me. Keep them on me." He flipped the cover of his sketchbook to a blank sheet of paper and blew out his breath. "Try to stay still," he added, trying to keep his hands from shaking.
Rose wet her lips, happiness filling her heart. Jack's hand moved swiftly over the paper, his brow knit in concentration. He seemed to block out all distraction, only focusing on the drawing.
"So serious," Rose teased, already missing his smile. Her voice was purposefully deep, and she tried not to giggle when he didn't respond, but only smirked. He finished the area from her neck up, and almost cautiously began sketching her chest and breasts, as though he were touching the real thing. He couldn't help stealing a glance at his subject.
Rose laughed at his embarrassment, raising her eyes playfully. "I believe you are blushing, Monsieur Big Artiste. I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing."
Jack paused in his work, trying hard not to laugh himself. "He does landscapes," he pointed out. "Just relax your..." He paused, cursing silently as his nose began to itch again. "HuhEshhhh! Chhuuuh! Chhuuuh!" He dropped the charcoal, covering his mouth with his hands, his eyes watering.
Rose stared, holding her breath. He did look adorable when he sneezed, and she felt a strange, guilty pleasure when it happened.
"God bless you," she said with a small, sympathetic smile as he began coughing. "Oh, Jack, you sound terrible."
He looked up. "Thank you," he croaked. "I'm so sorry, Rose. I always sneeze a lot when I'm sick."
Rose shook her head. "Don't be sorry, Jack. Maybe we shouldn't do this. I don't want you getting worse on my account."
He closed his eyes, his breath hitching again. "Eh-eh-Chhhuh! HuhChuuuh!" He felt slightly lightheaded. "No. I'll be all right to finish this," he promised, bending over to pick the pencil up from the rug.
Rose slid off of the couch, fetching her robe. "Well, let me at least get you a handkerchief." She hurried into her bedroom. When she was gone, Jack took the opportunity to sneeze naturally. "HuhTshhh! EhChuuh! K'Shhhuh! EtShhhuh!" He sneezed a total of ten times straight, out of breath and wheezing by the time Rose returned.
"My goodness!" she gasped, having heard the fit, and handed him one of the plain white linen squares. Out of curiosity, she felt his forehead and cheeks, checking to see if he had a temperature. "You have a little fever," she told him, kissing the tip of his nose. He coughed, not really surprised by the news. He was starting to feel chilled, and shivered a little.
"Lay back down, Rose. I promise I'll be fine. I can't stand to leave portraits half-finished, especially if I'm far enough along already." After blowing his nose, he set the hanky down over his knee, ready for future use. Rose did as she was told, getting back into her original position.
Jack continued the sketch, every so often a sneeze exploding. When he finished the drawing, Rose looked at it over his shoulder. She watched as he labeled the corner with his initials and date--JD, April 14, 1912. She whispered a heartfelt, "Thank you," into his ear.
"You're welcome," he replied, and the two of them melted into a passionate kiss.
The End.