Where Love's Sweet Roses Bloom

Chapter 1

Palm Court

     "She is the largest moving object ever made by the hands of man in all of history," explained Managing Director of White Star Line, Mr. Bruce Ismay, to those seated at the table around him in the Palm Court Restaurant.

     Warm sunlight streamed in through the many windows that lined the far wall, brightening the entire place and creating a light atmosphere for a pleasant luncheon. Miss Rose DeWitt Bukater was among this group of people, situated between her fiancé Caledon Hockley and her mother Ruth DeWitt Bukater. Across from her place at the table was Molly Brown and a gentleman that Rose had not had the pleasure of being introduced to, yet.

     Throughout Mr. Ismay's lengthy spiel, Rose could not help but find her attention drawn to the mysterious stranger across from her, watching as he scribbled diligently in a black, leather notebook. 

     He's quite handsome, she could not help but note in what she told herself was a purely objective observation. 

     He was an older gentleman, perhaps in his late thirties; the grey streaks peppered throughout his hair only made him all the more charming. His eyes, in the brief moments where they made eye contact, held only kindness, honesty, and warmth. So much so that it startled Rose each time those hazel eyes found hers.

     Such a sight was foreign to her.

     "...and our master shipbuilder, Mr. Andrews, here designed her from the keel plates up," Mr. Ismay's voiced floated back in, interrupting her thoughts.

     Rose felt an odd sense of excitement at learning more about this older gentleman across from her. So that's who this is, she thought in satisfaction at finally being given the answer.

     It was obvious that this Mr. Andrews was not fond of being at the center of attention. He closed his notebook and set it aside as to provide his full attention to his awaiting audience, "Well, I may have knocked her together but the idea was Mr. Ismay's. He envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in appointments, that its supremacy would never be challenged. And here she is..." He knocks on the table to further prove its existence. 

     As if they needed more proof, the lingering smell of fresh paint was tangible enough. 

     As Mr. Andrews spoke, she couldn't help but admire the calming and smooth lilt of his Irish accent as he proudly discussed his creation, his eyes alight. It was obvious he was more at ease when given the opportunity to discuss his masterpiece. She wouldn't mind listening to him talk forever, about whatever. 

     Rose lit a cigarette as the conversation continued. Of course, as with nearly everything she seems to do, her mother shoots her a disapproving look before vocally making it known in a murmur so as to not draw attention, "Rose. You know I don't like that."

     Various instances in Rose's life where she was forced do things against her will popped in her head, and in retaliation and rebellion, she blew the smoke in Ruth's face. The satisfaction at her mother's shocked face, however, was short-lived as Cal reached over and snatched the cigarette from her hand. 

     Rose tensed.

     "She knows," He said. His tone resembled that of someone discussing their miss-behaving child rather than fiancé. And in similar fashion to a child being reprimanded, especially when in the presence of others, Rose was filled with embarrassment and anger. Mr. Andrews attempted to catch Rose's eye to send her an assuring look, but her eyes remained steadily on her plate.

     A waiter approached to take their orders. Cal was quick to give both of theirs, not pausing to consider if she would actually like what he ordered for  her. His consideration, instead, came as an afterthought, "You like lamb don't you, sweat-pea?"