Serenity

A Woman Emerging

Rose's hideous dress did not fit inside the Daimler's driver's seat, even though it was an open-drive Landaulette. Half of her hem was hanging out of the window.

''I shall die when my dress is caught in the wheels, and I will be thrust out of the window and dragged by hems all the way home,'' Rose cried as she clasped onto the wheel. Jack's soft but calloused fingers were atop her own, and soon, she was soothed.

''Do you trust me?''

Silence overcame her. He was frighteningly still beside her on the leather bench.

''Yes.''

He leaned forward ever so slightly that their lips came into contact. It was brief, startling her through to the very core. Rose felt her heart flutter, and all her nerves seemed to disappear but reappear simultaneously.

Gently, Jack took her right hand in his left and moved forward once again. He kissed her again with more passion than the first time. His warmth soothed her shivers; his tongue asked for permission to enter her mouth, and when it did, she was entirely in too deep. Deeper than ever before. Diving into the depths of his soul, just drowning. This was the closest she had ever been to a man, and as her fingers folded into his shirt, she felt the hair upon his chest and the racing beat of his heart.

''I can't teach you how to drive when you are so distracting.''

''You kissed me first,'' Rose whispered against him, completely drowning in blue. ''I want to learn to drive.''

As painful as it was, Jack pulled himself away from the closeness and focused on the task.

"I did promise you that I would."

"Yes, you did. I wish to drive like a man."

Soon, they were juddering all the way home, with Rose hilariously in the driving seat.

Ruth, Rose's mother, was stoic. Beyond. Elizabeth, Rose's sister, was straight-faced. They were either too stunned to speak or simply had nothing to say. One could not determine what the best response could be...

Rose watched both of their faces upon her; judging minds and tilted heads did not give away their thoughts.

Madame Laurant had worked wonders with the wedding gown and had worked wonders of cinching in her waist to a meagre small amount. It had worked wonders to thrust her bosom upwards in a daring but not such provocative way, a sensuous glance for her future husband to see. When made of satin, such a gown was apt to appear too severe and formal about the top of the bodice because of the heavy nature of the material. The rich satins used, however, hung beautifully in the skirt and long court train. A beautiful finish to a simple princess gown was the addition of two or three wide lace flounces set on straight about the lower edge of the drop skirt. Wreaths of orange blossoms made a delightful finish for the top of these lace flounces, and a bouquet of the same blossoms finished the bodice at the front. Rose DeWitt Bukater was a picture of bridal elegance, standing before the vanity unit surrounded by her mother and sister. Madame Laurant stood beside, but off to the left, her dark eyes roving down the creation which she had pulled together in such a short amount of time that she outwardly was pleased as punch, however, that never quite reached the modiste's eyes.

''You are quite beautiful,'' Ruth finally broke the unforgiving silence with her hands clasped at her waist, ''I believe it is quite fitting to the body.''

''Thank you, mother.''

''This look is the rage today.'' Madam Laurant offered some solstice to the broken silence. "Brides of Paris and Milan shall rival."