TITANIC - Jack And Rose, Both Are Alive!

Chapter 22

By Cecelia Dowdy - visit titanicfanfiction dotcom

Reviews are welcome!

This story is based upon characters created by James Cameron

Chapter 22

I stared at Jack's handsome face while he shoveled the scrambled eggs I'd made into his mouth. I winced, realizing my husband was trying not to spit out my blackened scrambled eggs. He took a sip of coffee and spit it out. "Rose…"

Tears welled in my eyes, and I started blubbering. Jack reached over, pulling me into his strong arms, forcing me to sit on his lap. "Ah, Rose, don't cry."

My pregnancy had gotten me so emotionally wound up that I didn't know what to do with myself. I cried so easily…I never used to cry this much, not even when Cal was acting like a stupid, dominating asshole! Jack stroked my stomach with his mesmerizing hands, calming me down, making me think about the amazing night we'd spent together. I closed my eyes, recalling the hot, passionate way Jack Dawson made love to me the previous night. I flushed, and Jack chuckled. "Are you thinking about last night?"

My sadness evaporated and I eventually smiled, before spotting his plate of half-eaten, burnt scrambled eggs. My smile disappeared as I thought about my problem. I couldn't even make decent breakfast for my new husband!

After our wedding the previous day, Jack and I had gone back to Mrs. Roker's so that I could get my things. Cecile was lurking in the hallway, wearing her ugly brown dress and she had a lacy shawl draped around her bony shoulders. I'd never seen her wear the shawl before and I'd wondered if she'd stolen the item. While I went up to my room, Cecile stared at me. She even looked like she wanted to say something to me, but, I ignored her. Miranda had given me a brief hug, wishing me luck on my new marriage. I think Miranda was glad to see me leave since she now had the bedroom to herself.

Today, Jack had to go to the docks and take to the streets of New York to do his signature sketches. He had to bring home lots of dimes to put food on our meager table. After our hot, passionate lovemaking the night before, we'd sat up talking for a long time, planning our future. Jack sketched me in the nude last night, signing the picture by placing the date, and his initials. He revealed that he'd started drawing a small cross beside his signature – a symbol of his faith. He'd recently started doing this on all of his sketches.

He'd mentioned he was thinking about offering art lessons to children to bring in more money. He'd suggested that if he could get the right connections, he could offer his lessons to the wealthy. I thought about people I knew from my former circles. Could I try and find some wealthy people, people whom may be connected to my previous circles, here in New York, hoping they'd hire Jack?

I sighed, too upset to think about that right now. Jack hated his breakfast and we didn't have a lot of money to spend on extra food. I glanced around our place, not pleased with our surroundings. I was living in a one-room unit. The bathroom was down the hall and we shared it with the other families on the floor. The curtains were worn, tattered, with holes. The wooden floor was scarred from years of use. There was an oven in the kitchen, but, I had no idea how to use it. For the first time in my life I'd made scrambled eggs and they'd turned out lousy.

I whimpered, getting up, going back to the stove. I lifted the tattered towel covering a bowl and saw my terrible-looking mass of dough. Jack came into the kitchen behind me, staring at the white, ugly, doughy mass. "What's that?" he asked, chuckling.

I gasped. "Don't laugh at me! I wanted to have some bread to serve with your breakfast this morning." I shook my head. "When I was a girl, and I spent more time in the kitchen with the cook, I recall her making dough and covering it with a towel. In a few hours, it always rose into a loaf and she'd bake it into a loaf of bread."