Work Text:
The meadow was alive with late spring light, a gold so bright it seemed to pour from the sky itself. Long grasses bowed and swayed in the breeze, scattering motes of pollen that shimmered like flecks of fire against the sun. Above, the sky stretched wide and endless, the kind of blue that made a man believe in forever.
Rose darted through it barefoot, her laughter carrying across the open air like birdsong. It was light and unguarded, the kind of sound Jack thought he might spend the rest of his life chasing. Her gown was simple today, a pale blue cotton with a white sash tied at the waist—nothing like the silks and satins she’d once been forced to wear. The skirt lifted as she ran, catching on the wind, brushing through wildflowers that clung to the hem. Her hair, loosed from pins, streamed behind her in auburn ribbons, catching fire where the sun kissed it.
Jack trailed a few paces behind, though he hardly cared to catch up. The sketchbook tucked under his arm was forgotten, useless. No pencil in the world could hold her like this—alive, moving, free. He let himself watch, let himself drink her in as if she were a dream stitched from sunlight and laughter, as if the whole earth had been waiting for her to run across it.
God, he loved her. Idolised every bone in her body. Seeing her like this—hair loose, feet bare, laughter spilling out into the open air—was the reason he hadn’t given up on her aboard the Titanic. The reason he’d fought through freezing water and fear and every ounce of hopelessness. Because he’d seen this wildness inside her, even then. And now, here she was, free. His wild Rose.
She glanced back once, grinning, her cheeks flushed, daring him with her eyes before vanishing into the deeper green at the meadow’s edge. There, where wild roses tangled with hawthorn, her blue skirts brushed through blossoms and thorns. For a heartbeat Jack lost her, heart lurching at the sudden silence, until the sound came: the sharp catch of fabric, a startled gasp.
“Rose?”
He found her turned toward him, half-laughing, half-breathless, caught fast in the bramble. A thorny stem had snagged the hem of her dress, pulling until the seam gave with a soft rip. A line of stitches loosened, fabric slipping against her thighs in a way that made her still suddenly, the laughter catching in her throat.
Her eyes widened, a flush rising high in her cheeks. But Jack only stared—not with shock, not even with amusement, but with a hunger edged in awe.
“My wild Rose,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice roughened by something he couldn’t temper. He brushed the thorns carefully from her skirt, fingertips grazing the torn fabric until they found her skin. The touch was light, reverent, but it burned all the same. “Even the earth can’t help but unravel you.”
His thumb lingered at the frayed edge, calloused and warm, and Rose’s breath hitched. She didn’t move, though sunlight flickered in her eyes like she might bolt again if he gave her the chance.
But Jack only smiled—boyish, crooked, the kind of smile that always made her feel like she was the only thing he saw.
“Go on, laugh,” he whispered. “I’ll be thinkin’ about this every time I try to draw you.”
Rose tilted her head, trying for composure though her cheeks burned. “Then you’d better pray no one sees your sketchbook, Mr. Dawson. Imagine the scandal—me, half-undone in a field.”
Jack grinned wider, eyes glinting. “Scandal? Naw. They’d just say I got the colours wrong, ‘cause there isn’t a pencil in the world that can catch how you look right now.”
She rolled her eyes, though her lips curved. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it,” he shot back, stepping close enough that she felt his chest brush hers.
“Perhaps,” she teased, lowering her lashes, though her smile betrayed her. “But I think you love me more for running—makes you chase me, doesn’t it?”
Jack leaned in, voice low and rough at her ear. “Damn right. Don’t stop runnin’, Rose. I’ll always come after you.”
Rose’s smile deepened into mischief. She held his gaze for a beat, eyes glinting, then with a sudden twist she slipped from his touch.
“Catch me, then,” she dared, her voice bright with laughter.
Before Jack could answer, she was gone—darting into the tall grass, skirts flying around her legs. Her laughter rang out, high and girlish, echoing through the meadow as if the earth itself joined in her game. She screamed once, not in fear but in delight, the sound circling the open field like a bird in flight.
Jack let out a sharp laugh of his own, shaking his head before he bolted after her. His boots tore through the grass, his heart hammering as much from the sight of her as from the sprint. She glanced back over her shoulder, auburn hair a streaming banner in the sun, and the look she gave him—breathless, daring, alive—nearly knocked him off his stride.
“Rose!” he called, half warning, half worship. “You’re not gettin’ away that easy.”
Her laughter answered him, carrying on the wind. She swerved through wildflowers and clumps of hawthorn, the meadow alive with her joy, her cries spiraling like music. And Jack ran harder, not just chasing her body but everything she was—her freedom, her fire, the very reason he’d held on through the dark water and cold night.
Her laughter rang across the open field, teasing and bright, as she darted through the tall grass. Jack tore after her, boots pounding the earth, the sun beating hard on his back. Already sweat slicked his brow, dampening the linen of his shirt until it clung to him like a second skin.
“Rose!” he shouted, half-laughing, half-winded, his grin fierce as he chased her swerving path.
She only screamed back in delight, the sound spiraling like birdsong. She moved quick and light as a fawn, her skirts flashing pale blue through the meadow.
Jack’s shirt plastered tighter with every stride, catching at his shoulders, sticking at his chest. He cursed under his breath, fumbling for the sketchbook still tucked under his arm. With a sudden motion he flung it down into the shade of a hawthorn bush, tugging at the buttons of his shirt until the fabric came loose.
In one rough pull he stripped it away, tossing the sweat-soaked linen onto the grass. The white vest beneath clung to his torso, outlining the hard lines of muscle, every breath heaving his chest.
Freed, lighter, he broke into a faster run, gritting his teeth as he narrowed the distance between them.
“Think you can outrun me, huh?” he called, voice ragged with exertion and something hotter.
Rose glanced back, her laughter wild and breathless, auburn hair whipping across her face. “Maybe I can!” she cried, before cutting across the meadow, the sun flashing on her bare ankles as she ran.
Jack lowered his head and pushed harder, legs burning, the chase now more than a game—it was a hunger, a need, and he swore he’d catch her if it took every drop of strength he had.
Rose darted toward the far side of the meadow where the grass thinned and sunlight flashed bright off water. The river curved there, quick and glinting, the sound of it rushing over stones carrying through the warm air.
Jack was gaining on her now, sweat rolling down his temple, his vest plastered tight against his chest. His breaths came ragged, his grin feral, eyes fixed on her as she tore through the last stretch of grass toward the bank.
She glanced back once more, laughing, her cheeks flushed, but before she could turn again Jack was on her. He lunged, arms wrapping around her waist, and together they tumbled down into the soft earth at the river’s edge.
They rolled in a tangle of limbs and laughter, the smell of crushed grass rising around them, the river splashing nearby like applause. Jack’s chest heaved against hers, his skin hot, slick with sweat, his hair falling wild across his forehead. Rose gasped beneath him, laughter breaking into a breathless cry as he pinned her to the earth.
“Caught you,” he rasped, grinning down at her, sweat dripping from his jaw. His voice was rough, raw, like every mile he’d run and every ounce of want he’d been holding had poured into that single moment.
Rose’s hands went to his chest, sliding over the damp fabric of his vest, feeling the hard rise and fall of his body beneath her palms. She tipped her head back, the river breeze cooling her flushed skin, her lips parting as Jack lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss hit like sunlight and hunger all at once, fierce and consuming. Every laugh, every breathless sprint, every heartbeat led to this—their bodies pressed together, rolling in the grass until laughter gave way to a deeper rhythm, a raw passion that burned hotter than the spring sun.
Their kiss broke and rejoined, desperate, uneven, both of them gasping for air as if the sprint hadn’t already stolen it. Rose’s hands slid over his chest, feeling the damp press of his vest clinging to him, the hard muscle beneath. He was solid under her touch, built not from idle leisure but from the last few months spent hauling boxes on the docks and casting nets at the port, the kind of work that had carved strength into him, lean and sure.
She tugged at the fabric, pulling, needing to feel him without barriers.
Jack groaned low in his throat as her fingers fumbled at the buttons, but he didn’t wait. His own hands, rough and calloused from a life spent sketching and working, explored her with a hunger that made her shiver. His thumbs skimmed her waist, tracing the gap where her dress had torn, slipping beneath with a reckless tenderness.
The cotton shifted easily under his touch, seams giving way as though the meadow itself conspired with him. He pushed the fabric back from her shoulders, his fingers dragging over bare skin, uncaring of dirt or grass or the world around them.
“God, Rose…” he breathed against her neck, voice hoarse, as if he still couldn’t believe she was here, alive, tangled up with him in the wild.
Her laughter—shaken now, trembling with something deeper—melted into a gasp as he pulled at her gown, peeling it away without thought, without hesitation. She clutched at his vest, tugging it over his head with the same urgency, needing to feel his skin, needing him closer.
The river rushed beside them, cool and constant, but their world had narrowed to heat and hands and breathless mouths, exploring, claiming, giving in without a care for anything beyond this wild, sunlit bank.
Jack kissed her again, slower this time, as though he had all the time in the world, even with his body trembling from the chase. His lips brushed hers softly at first, reverent, lingering as if he wanted to memorize the taste of her laughter still clinging to her mouth.
He had made love to her many times since their first time aboard, each moment tender, each one a quiet reminder that they had survived to find each other again. But this—this was different. The air around them hummed with wildness, the river rushing close, the meadow wrapping them in gold and green. There was no bed, no roof, no walls to soften the world. Only earth and sky, only sweat and grass and the pounding of their hearts.
Rose’s fingers threaded into his damp hair, pulling him closer, her chest rising fast against his. He kissed her jaw, the hollow of her throat, his breath ragged and warm as though he couldn’t drink her in quickly enough.
Her hand slid down his arm, tracing the strength carved into him these last months—the muscle earned from hard days at the port, the sun turning his skin bronze, the river light catching on the roughness of his knuckles. She loved him for all of it, but most of all for the way he touched her now: not claiming, not demanding, but as if she were the most precious thing in the world.
“Jack…” she breathed, her voice unsteady, a tremor between a plea and a sigh.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his forehead resting against hers, sweat shining at his temples. His blue eyes were fierce and tender all at once.
“My beautiful wild Rose,” he whispered.
He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands sliding to her waist, pulling her closer until there was nothing left between them but heat, breath, and the raw truth of how badly they needed each other.
Jack’s hands trembled as they slid over the torn seam of her gown, not from uncertainty, but from the sheer weight of her—the woman beneath his hands, the woman who had chosen him over everything. He eased the fabric from her shoulders, the cotton slipping down her arms, whispering against her skin before pooling at her waist.
In the golden light of the meadow, she was revealed to him fully, not in shadowed candlelight or the secrecy of a stateroom, but here—open, unhidden, an angel beneath the spring sun.
Jack drew in a breath that caught in his chest. He had seen her before, had sketched every line of her with charcoal and trembling fingers aboard Titanic, but this was different. Then, she had been shy, even when she dared him with her boldness. And maybe he had been too, a kid playing at being sure of himself, hiding nerves behind steady lines on paper.
But now… now he was here, older by more than months, carrying the weight of survival, of loving her through nights of fear and mornings of waking tangled together. And she wasn’t just beautiful. She was everything.
“Rose,” he whispered, almost reverent, his eyes drinking her in as if daylight itself had been made for her.
She met his gaze, unflinching, though her breath came quick, cheeks flushed pink with something more than exertion. She loved him—deeply, without doubt, without fear. He knew it, because she had proven it a hundred times over. She had leapt back onto a sinking ship for him, when she could have saved herself. She had chosen his hand, his love, his life, when the whole world told her not to.
Jack felt undone by it, by her. A laugh broke from him, shaky and soft, because no words in the world could hold what he felt.
Rose reached for him then, not to cover herself, not to shy away, but to pull him closer, her eyes locked on his. In that look was everything: defiance of the world, devotion, and a love so fierce it set his whole soul alight.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, voice cracking with awe. “No lines on paper could ever show what you really are.”
Rose’s heart swelled, her breath catching at the way he looked at her—as if she were sunlight itself. She ran her hand down his bare chest, damp with sweat, the muscles taut and alive beneath her touch. The heat of him made her dizzy. She needed more. Needed him.
Her fingers slipped lower, quick and sure, freeing him with an urgency that made his whole body shudder. Jack’s breath hissed out through clenched teeth, his head tipping back for a moment as though he couldn’t take the flood of feeling she was drawing out of him.
“Rose…” he rasped, his voice unsteady now, stripped of that boyish teasing he so often wore. There was only raw need, threaded with love, with awe.
She looked up at him then, her eyes bright, burning, and whispered, “I need to feel everything, Jack. All of you.”
For a heartbeat, he just stared—undone by her, lying bare beneath him in the grass, her skin glowing in the sun, auburn hair spread like fire over green. The meadow swayed around them, the river rushed close, but all he could see was her. This woman. His.
He bent and kissed her, hard, his body pressing fully into hers now, chest to chest, skin hot and slick. His hand cradled her face as his hips sank against her, the rough grass forgotten beneath them. He felt her arch up to meet him, as though she couldn’t wait another second, and he almost broke apart at the need in her touch.
“My Rose,” he murmured against her mouth, voice shaking. “My wild Rose.”
Her arms tightened around him, her voice fierce and trembling all at once. “My Jack. Always.”
Jack shifted over her, breath hot, chest heaving, his body slick with sweat before he was at her entrance, sliding against her with desperate urgency. In an instant, Rose arched into him, her nails dragging down his back, sharp enough to make him wince and groan in the same breath. He kissed her hard, their mouths crashing together, teeth grazing her lip before his mouth moved lower, to her neck. He marked her there in the wild sunlight, claiming her skin with his lips, his tongue soothing where his teeth had pressed too hard.
Her cries filled the meadow, echoing with the rush of the river and the lazy hum of summer air—unashamed, unrestrained. Jack drank every sound, every gasp, like he was starving, like she was the only music he’d ever need.
His hips pressed harder, sliding into her with each rough, beautiful thrust until she gasped his name, nails biting deeper into his slick back. He shuddered, groaning into her throat, the words torn from him: “You’re wild, Rose…” before kissing her again, swallowing her cries.
And still, his eyes never left hers. Blue locked to green, unwavering, even as their bodies moved frantically and desperate.
The grass flattened beneath them, flowers crushed sweetly into their skin, their scent rising into the heat of the air. Sweat rolled from his temples, dripping onto her bare shoulder, their bodies sliding together, every movement harder, deeper, more urgent, as if they were still running, still chasing, only now nothing stood between them.
Rose clung to him, her legs wrapping him tighter, drawing him deeper still. Her voice broke against his ear, breathless and raw, and she didn’t care who heard, didn’t care if the meadow itself echoed their wild, sun-drenched passion. This was theirs—loud, unafraid, unstoppable.
Jack buried his face against her neck, his breath ragged, his lips finding her pulse. He marked her again with his mouth, worshipping her with every kiss and bite, like he was carving her into his very being. And still he pulled back, needing her eyes, needing to see her.
“Look at me,” he rasped, voice hoarse, almost breaking. “Don’t stop lookin’ at me.”
“I won’t,” she gasped, nails digging into him again, her body trembling around his. “Never.”
And they moved together, faster now, raw and unrelenting, two souls colliding and clinging in the golden heart of the meadow. Around them the wind rushed, the river sang, the world burned with sunlight—but for them there was nothing else. No shipwreck, no ghosts of the past, no one to cage them. Only this: her cries, his groans, their eyes locked as they became one, loud and breathless, their love as primal as the earth beneath them and as eternal as the sky above.
--
Jack sank with her into the shallows, the current swirling cool around them both. Rose shivered at first, clutching his shoulders, but her laughter rang out anyway.
“Jack, it’s cold!”
He grinned, droplets running from his hair down his cheek. “Good. You needed coolin’ off.”
She splashed at him, but he only caught her wrist and pulled her closer, pressing a wet kiss to her nose. Then he dipped his hands into the river, scooping up water, and poured it gently over her hair. Auburn strands darkened and clung to her shoulders as he worked his fingers through, slow and careful, untangling knots from the grass and wildflowers.
Rose tipped her head back, eyes closed, a soft sigh slipping from her lips. “Mmm. I could get used to this.”
Jack chuckled low, his calloused fingertips massaging her scalp in lazy circles. “Careful. You’ll have me thinkin’ I should give up drawin’ and take up hair washin’ for a livin’.”
Her eyes fluttered open, sparkling. “You’d make a fortune.”
“Nah,” he teased, brushing a strand away from her cheek. “Only got one customer I’m interested in.”
Rose’s heart swelled, her smile softening. She reached up and touched his face, dripping with river water, her thumb tracing the curve of his grin. “My Jack,” she whispered.
He kissed her hand, then poured another handful of water over her hair, laughing as it splashed down her shoulders. “My wild Rose.”
And the river carried their laughter away, mingling with the sunlight, the water, and the marks of love that lingered still on her skin.
Jack’s fingers threaded deeper into her hair, combing through each strand with care, as if the act of untangling her was a kind of devotion. The river lapped softly around them, sunlight glittering on the surface, but his focus never wavered from her.
Rose leaned into his touch, eyelids heavy, lips parting in a sigh as he worked the water through her curls. His calloused fingertips massaged her scalp, soothing and steady, while the cool river carried away the heat of their passion.
Then Jack bent forward, pressing his lips to the curve of her shoulder where his mouth had marked her raw minutes before. He kissed the faint bruise gently, almost apologetically, then moved lower, to another along her collarbone, his tongue brushing lightly as if to soothe what he had claimed.
Rose’s breath caught. She tilted her head, gazing at him through damp lashes, her heart swelling at the sight of his reverence. Slowly, her hands moved to his back, her fingertips trailing down the lines of muscle slick with river water.
She stilled when she felt the ridges of her own work—long, angry scratches carved into his skin by her nails. Her hand lingered there, guilty and tender all at once, tracing what she had left behind.
“Jack…” she whispered, her voice breaking into a half-laugh. “I’ve clawed you to pieces.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, grinning crookedly, his forehead touching hers. “Good,” he said softly. “Now everyone’ll know you got to me.”
She laughed, breathless and teary all at once, pressing her cheek to his wet shoulder as her fingers still brushed over the marks she had made. And he held her there, one hand tangled in her hair, the other stroking down her spine, kissing her wherever his lips could reach—as though he would spend forever balancing passion with tenderness, wildness with care.
The river wrapped around them like silk, cool and alive, the current sliding past their skin in little rushing eddies. Sunlight dappled through the trees along the bank, striking the surface into a thousand shards of gold and silver. Where the water ran shallow, it chattered over smooth stones, sending up soft splashes; deeper in, it moved with a steady hush, like a heartbeat beneath the earth.
Jack stood in the shallows, the water lapping just below his chest as he cradled Rose against him. Her bare skin glowed beneath the rippling surface, shifting with the light as if she were part of the river itself. Tiny droplets clung to her lashes, to her lips, to the slope of her collarbone.
“Look at this,” Jack murmured, brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. “River’s doin’ half my work for me.”
Rose laughed softly, tilting her head back into the water as he poured it over her hair again. Auburn strands darkened, fanning out in the current, tangling like ribbons of fire drowned in silver. His fingers moved through it slowly, untangling grass, smoothing every lock, massaging her scalp until her eyes closed and her lips parted in a quiet sigh.
Around them, dragonflies skimmed low across the surface, their wings flashing like bits of stained glass. The air smelled of wet stone and sun-warmed earth, heavy with summer. A bird called from the trees upriver, its note sharp and bright, then the world quieted again to the rush of water and the sound of their breathing.
Jack lowered his head, kissing the marks he had left across her neck and shoulders, the river cooling what his passion had burned. Rose shivered, not from the chill, but from the tenderness threaded through every kiss. Her hands traced his back in return, finding the raw scratches she had carved into him, softened now by the water gliding over his skin.
She pressed her lips to one mark, smiling against him. “The river will heal you,” she whispered.
He chuckled low, kissing her ear. “Don’t want it to. I’ll wear you on me, Rose. Always.”
The current tugged at them gently, rocking them in place, their laughter rising again as Jack splashed a handful of water at her shoulder. She squealed and splashed him back, droplets flying between them, both of them breathless, carefree, their joy as wild as the river itself.
Jack finally loosened his hold, letting the current tug at them both. Rose slipped against him, her back to his chest, her hair fanned out across the water like a dark red halo. He wrapped his arms around her middle, steadying her, and together they let the river carry them.
The current was gentle here, winding through the meadow in slow curves, cradling them as it drifted. Sunlight poured across their faces, warm against the cool water, and the sky above stretched wide and endless, a bright summer blue scattered with drifting white clouds.
Rose’s fingers laced with Jack’s where they rested over her stomach, holding him close even as they floated free. “It feels like flying,” she whispered, her voice hushed, awed.
Jack pressed his lips to her wet hair. “No, it feels better. No fallin’ this time.”
She laughed softly, tilting her head back against his shoulder so she could see his face. His blue eyes shone in the sunlight, softened now from their frenzy into something calmer, deeper.
They drifted past wildflowers bending low at the bank, their petals trailing into the water, past willow branches dipping green fingers into the current. Birds wheeled overhead, their shadows skimming across the surface. The river rocked them gently, cool and endless, washing away sweat and heat until only the closeness of their bodies remained.
Rose turned in his arms, facing him now, water rippling around their shoulders. She cupped his cheek, smiling with that quiet fierceness that always undid him. “Jack Dawson,” she said softly. “You’ve ruined me for everything else.”
He grinned, boyish and crooked, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Good. That was the plan.”
She laughed, the sound carrying downstream with them, mingling with the river’s song.
The current rocked them gently, their bodies weightless in the water. When Rose shifted, her breasts grazed his chest, her nipples hardened by the cool river, dragging across his skin until he shivered. He lowered his head at once, lips closing over her, heat against chill.
Her breath hitched, her nails clutching his shoulders as her back arched into him. The sharp graze of his teeth sent a ripple through her, and when his tongue soothed after, she gasped, a sound that seemed to quiver through both of them.
He lingered there, mouth and hands working in slow torment, and she clung tighter, her legs wrapping around his waist, the river carrying them together as though it conspired in their passion. Every flick of his tongue, every sweep of his fingers over her hips, made her body tremble against his, sensitivity heightened by the water rushing around them.
She bent her head to him in return, pressing her lips to the damp line of his neck, tracing lower until she found the ridges of the scratches she had left in his skin. Her mouth lingered there, soft and claiming, while her fingers explored the raw marks with tender strokes.
He drew in a shuddering breath, his forehead pressing to hers, eyes locked, blue fire into green, both of them panting, skin slick, the river rocking them in its steady cradle. Neither looked away, not once, as the world shrank to this—water and heat and the exquisite ache of needing more.
Rose felt him hardening again, urgent and alive against her, and her breath stuttered at the thought that it was all for her—still, always, only for her.
It pulled her back to that night in the car, the first time his hands had ever claimed her. She had been untouched then, trembling with both fear and longing, her heart pounding in awe of his talent, his beauty, the wild courage in him that she could never resist. She remembered the way his fingers had shaken, the way his kisses had been half-desperate, half-unsure of how to guide her through something so new.
But now… now his hands were sure as they slid over her slick skin, though the reverence had never left them. Calloused palms held her as though she were both fragile glass and burning flame. Even after all the times they had found each other since, there was still a tenderness in him that undid her, as if each touch might be their first, or their last.
Rose cupped his face, her thumbs stroking the damp line of his cheekbones. His blue eyes flicked over her with the same wonder she’d seen that first night, a boy who had sketched her, worshipped her, and then touched her as if she were something rare and untouchable. And even now, floating in the wild current of the river, covered in his marks, her nails carved into his back, he looked at her as though he still couldn’t quite believe she was his.
She pressed her lips to his throat, feeling the pulse hammer there, and whispered against his skin, “It’s always been you. From the very first time.”
Jack’s breath caught, his hands tightening around her waist, fragile and fierce all at once, as though those words had broken him open. His mouth found hers again, not with the hesitation of their first night, but with the wildness of a man who had learned her body and her soul, yet still touched her like she was the most delicate thing in the world.
“The first time that you looked at me…” She lifted her eyes to his, green burning into blue. “I knew that I wanted your hands all over me.”
Jack froze, undone by the confession, his chest heaving against hers. His hands tightened at her waist, his forehead lowering until it touched hers.
“Rose,” he whispered, his voice roughened with awe and hunger both, “you don’t Jack froze, undone by the confession, his chest heaving against hers.
“It makes you have that look, Jack,” she breathed, her voice trembling with passion, “like you’re on fire with me.”
He gave a ragged laugh, half a groan, his mouth brushing hers as he spoke. “That’s ‘cause I am.’’
He watched her through the shimmer of sunlight on the river, her hair darkened and clinging to her skin, auburn strands plastered to her cheeks and neck. Her breasts pressed swollen against his chest, rising and falling with each ragged breath, and the sight of her like that — wet, wild, utterly his — drove him to desperation all over again.
With a groan he guided her back against the riverbank, the earth cool and slick against her shoulders. She winced as her back met the roughness, still sore from their earlier frenzy, but she didn’t draw away. Instead she tightened her grip on him, legs wrapping, body clenching, opening to him even in her tenderness.
Jack steadied her with his hands, his breath hot against her temple. He pushed into her slowly this time, measured, reserved, each movement careful, precise. Her gasp caught, half-pain, half-pleasure, and his lips found her cheek, her neck, murmuring against her skin as if to soothe away every ache.
The current lapped at their hips, cool against the heat of their bodies, the water carrying their rhythm as he held her close. One arm braced her against the bank, the other cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangled in wet hair. He moved with patience now, not the wild frenzy of before, but a slow, deep claiming, every thrust a promise.
His eyes never left hers, blue locked to green. He held his woman, his whole world, moving inside her as though the act itself was worship.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint, lips brushing her temple as he held her steady. “I’ve got you.”
And Rose, even with the ache still threading through her, lifted her chin and kissed him, her hands clutching his back, her body yielding with quiet ferocity. Her legs tightened around his waist, drawing him deeper, needing him despite the soreness.
He slowed, his breath shuddering as he pressed his forehead to hers. “Are you all right?” he asked hoarsely, the question breaking through his hunger, his eyes searching hers with that fierce tenderness that always undid her.
She nodded, her lips trembling into a smile. “Yes… I feel everything.”
Something broke in him at that—something deeper than desire. His movements stayed slow, deliberate, each thrust a careful devotion, but his eyes never left hers. Rose held him tighter, nails biting into his shoulders, her body answering his with the same raw honesty, pain and pleasure mingling into something far greater.
The river lapped at their hips, the sun poured over them, and in that fragile, unrestrained union, they became each other’s world entirely.
Jack kissed her then—soft, lingering, his mouth moving with the same rhythm as his body. Each thrust was measured, precise, unhurried, as though he wanted to stretch the moment into forever. Rose felt the river’s cool fingers around them, the sun’s warmth above them, but it was his eyes holding her, his hands cradling her head, that bound her utterly.
The ache inside her softened under his care, giving way to a steady rise of heat. Every slow movement sparked deeper, her body tightening around him as if she were sculpted for this alone. Her breath came in ragged waves, gasps breaking against his mouth, sighs swallowed into his kisses.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, voice catching, her fingers tangling in his wet hair.
“I won’t,” he promised, his lips brushing hers, his eyes never once looking away.
The build was slow, relentless—no frenzy, no rush, just the steady swell of sensation that climbed higher with every deep, patient thrust. Rose trembled beneath him, nails dragging across his back, her body quivering as the pressure coiled tight, tighter still. Her eyes brimmed with tears, not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of it, the way he was watching her as if she were the only thing in the world.
And then it came—slow, exquisite, drawn out. Her whole body arched against him, every nerve alive, her cry spilling against his mouth as wave after wave shook through her. It was unlike anything she had ever felt, stretched out into eternity, her release blooming in time with the deliberate devotion of his every movement.
Jack held her through it, kissing her, whispering broken words against her lips, moving with her until the last tremor eased. He never looked away, his blue eyes fierce and wet, as if her pleasure had undone him as completely as his own.
Her body arched against him, trembling, every sound spilling into his mouth as her release shook through her in long, drawn-out waves. Jack kissed her through it, his own rhythm faltering as he felt her tighten around him, holding him, pulling him deeper still.
The sight of her — eyes closed in ecstasy, auburn hair clinging wet to her face, lips parted with those desperate, breathless cries — undid him. His chest heaved as if he’d run a thousand miles, sweat mingling with river water, his whole body straining against the effort of holding back.
But when her eyes fluttered open, meeting his with that raw, unguarded love, he broke.
“God…” he groaned, his forehead pressed hard to hers, his body surging into hers in deep, shuddering thrusts. He clutched her close, arms locking tight around her as the flood took him, every ounce of his restraint unraveling in the slow, consuming tide of release.
Rose held him through it, her legs still wound around his waist, her nails biting into his slick back as his groans mingled with her fading cries. The river rocked them in its cradle, carrying their tangled bodies as though it bore witness to the fire they had made.
He spilled into her with a force that left him shaking, kissing her fiercely, swallowing her gasps as if he couldn’t let her go, not even for a second. And when at last the tremors eased, he collapsed against her, breathless, his lips still brushing hers with soft, reverent kisses.
They stayed like that, floating against the bank, clinging to one another, both undone. Her skin was marked by him, his back carved by her, their love etched onto their bodies as surely as it was carved into their hearts.
“Always, my wild Rose,” he whispered against her damp hair, voice hoarse, still trembling.
She smiled through the haze, kissing the corner of his mouth, her body spent and glowing. “Always.”
--
The thing about spring is the rain comes unexpectedly. One moment the air is golden, thick with warmth, and the next it circles back on itself, turning heavy, restless, alive with a storm waiting to break.
They had only just dried off, skin tingling with the memory of the river, when the sky darkened. Jack had managed to retrieve his scattered clothes from the bush — shirt still damp, sketchbook tucked under his arm — when the first fat drops splattered against their skin.
Rose lifted her face instinctively, auburn hair plastering damp against her cheeks as the heavens opened. In seconds they were drenched again, their brief reprieve undone, left vulnerable beneath the wildness of the thunderstorm.
Jack laughed, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes, but the sound was swallowed by the sudden crack of thunder overhead. The meadow, moments ago sunlit and serene, turned into a frenzy of wind and water, the tall grasses thrashing around them, flowers bowing low under the weight of the rain.
He caught her hand, squeezing tight, his blue eyes flashing with both exhilaration and worry. “Guess the sky wasn’t done with us yet.”
Rose smiled, her lips trembling with laughter even as water streamed down her skin. “It seems it never is.”
And together, soaked to the bone, they stood at the mercy of the storm, as wild and unguarded as the spring itself.
The rain came down in sheets, drumming against the earth, blinding them in the open meadow. Jack caught her hand and tugged hard, his laughter mixing with the crack of thunder.
“Come on!” he shouted over the storm.
They broke into a run, bare feet slapping against mud, their clothes plastering tight to their bodies. Rose’s skirts clung heavy against her thighs, each step a fight, but Jack pulled her on, eyes scanning the field until he spotted it—an old wooden shack, sagging at the edge of the tree line, half-forgotten.
“Over there!”
They stumbled through tall grass and splashing puddles until they reached it, Jack shouldering the warped door open with a grunt. The air inside was musty, smelling of old wood and hay, but it was dry. He turned to her quickly, rainwater streaming from his hair, his chest rising and falling with the run.
“Get inside, Rose,” he said, his voice firm but gentle, guiding her through the doorway. “I’ll see what I can do about a fire.”
Rose stepped in, breathless, her hands trembling as she pushed the dripping strands of hair from her face. Lightning flashed outside, lighting the shack in sharp white for a heartbeat before plunging them into shadow again. She watched Jack already moving—scanning the corners, checking for dry wood, his mind bent toward her comfort before his own.
There had never been anyone like him, she thought. No one who could pull her laughing through the rain one moment, then shield her so fiercely in the next.
Jack shouldered the door shut against the rain, pressing his weight to it until the wind eased. For a moment, the storm was muffled—only the hiss of rain on the roof and the distant rumble of thunder rolling across the fields.
He glanced back at Rose, her gown plastered to her skin, her chest rising fast from their run. Lightning split the sky again, flashing through the cracks in the boards. Jack’s eyes narrowed, scanning the roof, the walls, the nearness of the trees.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, pushing wet hair out of his face. “That lightning’s close—but not right on top of us yet.”
Rose swallowed, hugging her arms around herself, though her gaze stayed steady on him. “Do you think it’s safe?”
Jack’s mouth pressed into a line. “Looks far enough away for now. Shack like this… it’s better shelter than the meadow, at least. We’ll keep to the centre, away from the walls.” He ran a hand along one of the beams, testing it. “She’s old, but she’ll hold.”
When his eyes came back to her, they softened. He crossed the space in two strides, brushing a dripping strand of hair from her cheek. “You’re shaking,” he murmured. “I’ll find us something dry and get a fire goin’. That storm may be wild, but it’s got nothin’ on us, all right?”
Rose gave a trembling smile, trusting him utterly, even as another roll of thunder rumbled low across the sky.
Jack squeezed her hand once before pulling away, scanning the dim interior. “Stay here. I’ll see what we’ve got.”
The shack smelled of damp earth and old hay, beams warped with age. Jack crouched low, peering into the corners where the rain hadn’t seeped. He tugged at a broken crate stacked against the wall; it came apart in his hands, the wood splintered but still dry enough in the middle.
“Here we go,” he muttered, hauling the pieces closer to the center of the floor. He pried out the cleanest planks and set them aside, then stooped again, gathering armfuls of old straw from a rotting sack slumped in the corner. Dust rose, making him cough, but he grinned when he saw how crisp it was. “Perfect tinder.”
Rose hugged her arms around herself, watching him move with swift determination, water still streaming from his hair and down his bare forearms. Even dripping wet, mud at his knees, he looked steady. He always did, when it came to making do with nothing.
He caught her watching and gave her that crooked, boyish smile, his teeth flashing in the dark. “Don’t worry, Rose. I’ve started fires with less than this.”
A low crack of thunder rolled again, closer this time, making the walls tremble. Jack’s eyes flicked toward the sound, then back to her, softer now. “I’ll get it goin’ quick. We’ll be warm before the worst of it passes.”
He began arranging the crate planks in a small pyramid, straw tucked carefully beneath. His hands worked with practiced ease, every movement steady, controlled, as if building a fire in an abandoned shack during a storm was the most natural thing in the world.
Jack crouched over the little pile of straw and splintered wood, his fingers moving quick and sure as he set it up just so. Rose, still shivering, knelt a little closer, her damp skirts heavy against the floorboards.
“You’ve done this before,” she said softly, watching the way he cupped his hands around the tinder.
He gave a short laugh, glancing up at her with that crooked grin. “More times than I can count.” His eyes softened a little, as though memory had tugged them far away. “Once in February—cold as hell, I can't even remember where I was in France but, spent most of that time drunk to keep warm. Me and Fabrizio ended up sleepin’ out in a hut with no roof for near three weeks. Only thing that kept us alive was a fire we built from whatever scraps we could scrounge. Paper, driftwood, broken fence posts. Some nights it near went out, but we always brought it back.”
Rose’s breath caught at the image—Jack and his friend huddled in the dead of winter, faces to the flames, no walls around them but the night.
She reached out, brushing her fingers across his wet forearm. “Three weeks?”
“Three weeks,” he said, voice gentler now, almost reverent. “Every morning we’d wake stiff and frozen, every night go to sleep hopin’ the sparks would hold. And still…” He shrugged, striking a match with quick ease, cupping his hands around it until it caught. “There was somethin’ about it. Bein’ out there. Just two fellas, nothin’ but stars, frost, and fire.”
The straw caught with a faint glow, the tiny flame licking upward, trembling, alive. Jack bent close, coaxing it with careful breaths until it spread to the splintered wood. Then he sat back on his heels, eyes reflecting the flicker, and smiled at her again.
“See? Nothing to it.”
Rose felt warmth spread through her—not just from the growing flame, but from him, from the way he could make even hardship sound like a story of survival, of life. She pressed her damp hands toward the fire, her eyes never leaving his.
The fire caught and grew, warming the damp air, shadows leaping against the warped wooden walls. Jack sat back on his heels, eyes fixed on the flames as though seeing something far beyond them. His voice came low, almost to himself.
“I miss him,” he admitted. “Every damn day. Feels like I still hear his laugh sometimes—like if I turned quick enough, he’d be standin’ right there. He should’ve been here, Rose. Should’ve seen all this.”
Her heart clenched at the raw ache in his voice, and she leaned closer, her damp skirts dragging across the boards. She reached for his hand, but before she could speak, he shook his head, eyes flicking to hers.
“But that ship…” He swallowed, his throat working as the firelight carved his face in gold and shadow. “That ship brought me to you. Out of all that loss, out of every reason I could’ve gone down with her—it gave me you. And that’s the one thing I’ll thank it for ‘til my last breath.”
Rose stilled, the storm raging outside, thunder shaking the roof—but all she could hear was him. Her breath caught as his hand lifted, warm despite the damp, cupping her cheek with a tenderness that undid her.
“You’re the reason I kept breathin’,” he whispered, voice rough with truth. “The only reason.”
Her eyes burned, a tremor breaking through her lips as she leaned into his palm. “Jack…”
He pulled her close then, not in frenzy but in something deeper—his forehead pressed to hers, his thumb brushing her skin like he was memorizing her face in the firelight, as if gratitude itself could be carved into touch.
Jack’s eyes stayed on the fire, the flames dancing gold across his face. His voice came quiet, unguarded, as though the storm outside had stripped him bare.
“The stars… they had a way of tellin’ me what to do, y’know?” He gave a faint, crooked smile. “Just goin’ with it all, followin’ wherever they pointed. They led me to some places I never expected—one thing openin’ the door to another.” He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “And all of it, every turn, it got me to you. To that deck. To you above me, leanin’ over the rail like a vision.”
His voice roughened, breaking into something more. “And I thought I was drunk as hell. You were an angel.”
Rose’s breath trembled out of her, her chest tightening. She reached for him, her fingers curling against the back of his wet hand, needing the contact.
Jack finally looked up, his blue eyes catching hers through the shadows. “I swear, Rose… that night, I knew the stars had finally stopped movin’. They’d led me where I was meant to be.”
Her heart surged so hard it hurt, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his, their damp skin warmed by the growing fire.
“You weren’t drunk,” she whispered. “You were right.”
“I felt your eyes on me,” she whispered. “And I knew I shouldn’t look back. But the way you looked…” She paused, swallowing, her voice unsteady. “It wasn’t rude. It wasn’t like the others. It was haunting—like you saw right through me.”
Jack’s lips parted, his breath catching, blue eyes locked to her green across the flickering glow.
“I did,” he murmured. His voice was rough, stripped bare. “And I never thought it would be this way with us. I got involved, and I got scared. But Pa always told me—‘tell the goddamn truth, no matter what.’ And the truth was… I knew I was riskin’ a heart broken. When you sent me away, I thought it was for good. I thought I’d lost you before I ever really had you.”
The fire snapped, shadows leaping across the walls, thunder rolling faintly overhead. Rose leaned closer, tears shining in her lashes, her hand sliding over his.
“But then you came back to me,” Jack whispered, his voice cracking. “You came back, and I knew I’d go down in flames if it meant one more second with you.”
Rose shook her head, overcome, her lips trembling into a fierce, tender smile. “You showed me how to fly, Jack. How to be free. And I knew then… I needed to see myself through your eyes. Because only then could I believe I was more than what they told me I was.”
Rose’s lips hovered against his, her breath trembling as though the firelight itself burned the words out of her.
“And I saw…” She swallowed, eyes locking on his, green blazing with the reflection of the flames. “I wasn’t this little girl. I was a woman. A woman who needed to be in control of everything—her life, her choices, her body.” Her voice cracked, but her gaze never wavered. “And I wanted you. God, I wanted you, Jack.”
‘’I know people will always think I was a fool, giving it all up for you. My mother and Cal believe me dead. All of society mourns the version they thought I was.”
Jack’s chest heaved, his lips parting as if the truth in her words had struck him to the core. He shook his head, voice low and steady, though it trembled at the edges.
“And you gave it all up for a penniless artist who can barely afford a roof over your head.” His eyes shone, the firelight catching on the wet in them. “But I mean this, Rose—I love you. You know that. I’ll work my fingers to the bone if it means food on the table, a roof to keep the rain off us. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. For you.”
Her breath hitched, tears slipping down her cheeks, but she didn’t look away.
He cupped her face in both hands, leaning his forehead against hers, his voice fierce now, fierce in its tenderness. “And I’m so damned proud of you. Gettin’ that job at the school—it’ll give us more than just money. It’ll give us a way to keep travelin’, to live, and keep on livin’. Not just survivin’, Rose. Livin’.”
She closed her eyes, overwhelmed, her hands sliding over his wrists to hold him there, to anchor him. “That’s all I ever wanted. A life that’s mine. A life with you.”
Jack kissed her then—slow, reverent, as if sealing a vow spoken not just between them, but to the fire, to the storm, to the very universe that had brought them together.Jack’s thumb brushed over her damp cheek, his breath rough, uneven. His lips hovered close, his words tumbling out before he could temper them.
“I wanna marry you,” he murmured. “Wanted to marry you since the first time I kissed you. I know you were trapped then, and the last thing you needed was more shackles—but, Rose, I want it if you’ll have me. I know we said not to lay foundations, to keep movin’ free… but I can’t help it. I want you as my wife.”
Rose’s heart stopped, the firelight flickering across his face, painting him half in shadow, half in gold. He looked at her as though bracing for refusal, his chest heaving, blue eyes wide with hope and fear tangled tight.
But before he could say more, she shook her head sharply, tears spilling over her cheeks. “Jack. Don’t finish.” Her voice trembled, but her gaze burned steady. “Yes. I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you here, now, without a ring, without anyone watching. I don’t want a grand gesture. I want you . A marriage, not a show.”
His lips parted, stunned, the breath stolen from him. “Rose… I would’ve asked you proper. Found a ring, saved enough, given you somethin’—”
“No.” She cut him off again, her hands clutching his face, fierce and certain. “That’s not what I need. I’ve had enough of diamonds and grand displays. I need something real. You’re real. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Jack’s throat worked as though he couldn’t speak, his eyes shining wet in the firelight. Finally, he gave a shaky laugh, part disbelief, part joy, and pressed his lips hard to her forehead, holding her as though he might never let go.
“You’ll be my wife,” he whispered, voice breaking. “God, Rose… you’ll be my wife.”
He kissed her fiercely, pouring everything into it—fear, relief, love—but she pushed back just slightly, enough to break the press of his mouth and take him in.
Her eyes drank his face as if for the first time: the wet hair clinging to his brow, the way the firelight carved gold into his cheekbones, the boyish lines softened by something deeper, older. Handsome, beautiful, hers.
“And,” she whispered, her voice trembling but sure, “the mother of your child.”
Jack stilled, his breath catching, every muscle locked as her words sank in. The fire crackled, thunder rolled faintly overhead, and he stared at her, eyes wide, lips parted.
It hit him with stunning clarity. “You’re…” His voice faltered, breaking under the weight of it.
She nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks though her smile glowed through them. “I’m expecting a baby. I’m sure of it, Jack. I have been for some weeks now.”
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them, broken only by the storm outside. Then Jack’s laugh broke out—shaky, half a sob—as his hands cradled her face, his forehead pressing to hers. His blue eyes shone brighter than the fire, wet and unbelieving.
“A baby…” he whispered, his voice breaking with wonder. “Our baby.”
Rose’s nod trembled, her breath catching as she spoke. “I wasn’t so sure at first. And we were never careful. We’re not married, Jack—and it’s only been three months since the ship.” Her voice cracked, eyes glistening. “What will people think of me? Of us?”
Jack shook his head fiercely, pulling her tighter, his thumb brushing her tears away before they could fall. “Let ’em think what they want. To hell with ’em all.” His voice steadied, though it trembled with emotion. “You’re carryin’ our child, Rose. That’s nothin’ to be ashamed of. That’s life, and it’s ours. And I swear to you—I’ll spend every day makin’ sure you and that baby are safe, loved, and free. Nothin’ else matters.”
He kissed her, not fierce this time but slow, reverent, his lips trembling against hers with the weight of the vow he had just spoken. As they sank down together beside the fire, Jack’s hands moved with careful patience, pushing the damp folds of her gown away from her skin. Rose shivered, not from cold, but from the gentleness of him—how he undressed her like she was sacred.
And then she touched him in return, tugging at the soaked fabric clinging to his body, peeling it away piece by piece until he was bare before her in the flickering light. His skin was golden and shadowed, his chest still heaving, every line of him beautiful and utterly hers.
Jack lowered himself, his lips trailing down her throat, her collarbone, the soft rise of her breasts—each kiss tender, careful, as though he were mapping her anew. But when he reached the soft curve of her stomach, he stilled.
He pressed his lips there, slow and lingering, his damp hair falling against her skin. His hands slid into hers, holding them tightly as he kissed the place where new life was beginning, his voice breaking into a whisper against her belly.
“Our baby,” he breathed. “You, me, and our baby.”
Rose’s fingers clenched around his, her tears spilling silently as she looked down at him—the man who had saved her, who had given her freedom, who now kissed her body as though it were a miracle.
Jack’s lips lingered on her stomach, his hands clasping hers, when Rose gently tugged him up toward her. His blue eyes lifted, still wet with awe, but she hushed him with a trembling smile.
Wordlessly, she reached for him, pulling away the last of his clothes, her fingers careful and deliberate until he was bare before her. The firelight carved gold and shadow across the strength of him, and she touched him as though memorizing every inch—her husband, her love, the father of her child.
Jack sat back against the rough boards, his breath coming ragged as he watched her. Rose moved with quiet grace, her damp hair falling around her shoulders, her gown slipping fully away. She straddled him, easing onto his lap, their bare skin meeting in the glow of the fire.
She took his face in her hands, holding him still, her tears glimmering but her voice steady. “Here,” she whispered, her forehead pressed to his. “Here I vow to love you. To protect you, as you protect me. To carry our child—and many more, if we are blessed. To be yours, Jack, in every way.”
His chest shook beneath her, his hands gripping her waist, trembling with the weight of what she was giving him. “Rose…” he managed, voice broken, undone.
She kissed him softly, reverently, and as she pulled back her lips brushed his ear, her whisper shivering through him. “And here I vow to take you into me, always.”
Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, her breath catching at the sweet ache of joining, her body yielding to his with unhurried grace. Jack’s head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut, a groan breaking loose as he clutched at her hands, their fingers twining tight.
Rose held him close, her lips brushing his temple, her tears dampening his skin. “My husband,” she whispered with every careful movement. “My love. My forever.”
And in the flicker of firelight, their vows sealed not with rings or priests or grand halls, but with skin, with breath, with the quiet, sacred act of two souls binding into one.
Rose moved slow and steady, her hands braced against Jack’s chest, her body sinking to meet his with a rhythm as ancient as it was new. He held her hips gently, reverently, his blue eyes locked to hers, drinking her in as though he had never truly seen her until this moment.
They had found release together before—wild and urgent in the meadow, breathless in the river—but this… this was different. The steady rise, the unhurried joining, the vows still ringing in their ears—every movement pulled them closer to something greater than simple desire.
Rose’s breaths came soft and ragged, her lips parting with each slow thrust, and Jack kissed her cheek, her jaw, her temple, whispering broken words of love against her skin. She cradled his face in her hands, tears sliding down her cheeks even as her body trembled around him, overwhelmed by the intensity of it.
The fire crackled, thunder rolled outside, and they clung to each other, moving together in perfect rhythm until the pleasure built—not sudden and fierce, but slow, relentless, consuming. And when it broke, it was deeper than anything they had known, tearing through them in waves that left them shaking, gasping, utterly undone in each other’s arms.
Rose collapsed against him, her head on his shoulder, his arms locking around her as though he’d never let her go. Their hearts pounded in tandem, their breaths tangled, their bodies still joined.
Jack pressed his lips to her damp hair, whispering hoarsely into the crown of her head. “That… that was everythin’, Rose. Every damn thing.”
“My wild Rose,” he murmured, the words breaking on his breath as he held her tighter.
Jack closed his eyes, the fire’s glow painting warmth across his skin. In the aftermath of intimacy, he felt himself drifting—half in dreams, half in waking—and what he saw made his chest ache with a sweetness almost too much to bear.
He was back in the meadow, the tall grass alive with sunlight. Rose was there, barefoot and laughing, her hair streaming behind her in auburn ribbons. She darted just out of reach, turning to flash him that look that always undid him, daring him to chase. And he did—he always did.
But this time, a child followed her, small legs stumbling through the grass, laughter ringing like a bell. The sun caught on curls the same shade as his, on eyes bright like hers. And more laughter joined—higher, lighter—other children tumbling after, their children, the meadow alive with the sound of a life he had never dared to imagine.
Jack’s heart clenched even in sleep, the dream so vivid it burned behind his eyelids. He saw Rose scoop their child into her arms, saw himself catch up, lifting them both high into the golden air. A family. Theirs.
And in the crackle of fire and the soft rhythm of the storm outside, Jack Dawson dreamed of everything he and Rose had promised each other that night—love, freedom, and a future bright enough to chase forever.