Chapter one.

Her head and her heart were completely separated.

Her head, which was the only logical part of her, was genuinely happy; ecstatic to see him so – elated. The smile on his face seemed to reach his eyes. She remembered that smile so well. The way he had made her smile and how everything had seemed perfectly all right. How he had held her, then smiled, he had been happy. With her.

Her heart, however, was the opposite. It was torn completely, already weakened from the years of torment, heartache and time spent weeping herself to sleep – all for one man. The one man she had fallen for completely and utterly.

It had been eight years. They say time heals such things but time had done nothing for twenty-five year old Rose Dawson, nor had volunteering as a nurse in the violent, terrible war. Her work had taken her right to the centre of the action in France. Every man she feared would be him, every face she checked and every nightmare which came to her each night. She had never healed. The ghosts had never gone. Instead they came back to her night after night. His face smiling at her, loving her and becoming part of her every day.

She had left him on a freezing night eight years previous, stood watching as she left a sinking ship on a lifeboat which he had ordered her to climb aboard and then he had disappeared from her sight and died – or so she had thought. For five whole years she had mourned him. The life they could have shared, those precious moments and how he had promised her everything which she had ever wanted. He had taught her everything about the world, about how to live, to dance and how to fall in love. He had opened her eyes to a completely different way of life, how to not be everything which her education had taught her growing up. Her body had succumbed to him, she had given herself to him and he to her. She had made a decision, to leave her family and her entire world to join him in his. She had been willing and she had expected to step off a ship with him in New York City ready to spend the rest of their lives together. Just them.

Those three days which they had spent together had become engraved into her memory on replay until one day, four days before US Congress announced they would be joining the war which had been raging in Europe for three years; she had opened a newspaper and there he was – as an artist, with his picture in front of her. He was based in Sunny Santa Monica and then the war happened. For almost two years the knowing that he was out there ate at her. Joining the war ensured they were on the same page, he would no doubt be fighting but their paths never crossed...until now.

June 7th 1920

He touched her face, their heads together. Tears pricked in Rose's eyes and that sinking feeling in her tummy turned to a dull ache. She leant against an unlit gas-lamp for support, her eyes were unwavering. She knew that looking at him would cause her insides to crush even more, for her heart to fall even more into her stomach, for her head to completely fall to where her heart was. Had he looked at her the same way he looked at this woman?

Those beautiful blue eyes which she had fallen into so deeply now looked into the darker eyes of another woman. She had been in love with him, she still was and yet in her naïve mind she had collected images of a broken man who had mourned for her too. She had thought of him broken down, downing bottles of whatever he would get his hands on. She wanted him to mourn her just as she had him for so long. Even after finding out that he had lived, after seeing his face...

The woman was lovely, her skin tanned from the sun, dark hair and freckles. His hand tucked a loose curl away and with that Rose turned her eyes away. It was too much. It would be something which would remain engraved in her mind for a long time. She allowed herself one glance back to them in their own world where no one existed but the other. She had been in this world with him. The world which he had shown her to be in, encouraged her to leave her own world for and she had been more than willing to give everything up for him. And so she had.

She took a deep cleansing breath and turned on her heel to leave. This was more than she could take seeing. She had spent eight years thinking of this moment, planning it and picturing what it could be like in her head but not once had it been like this. But then stopped. Where could she go?

She had returned to Santa Monica hoping to find him. In her mind, he would see her and then hold his arms out to her and she would welcome them around her like nothing before. She ached for them. Even remembering everything so vividly was painful, yet she couldn't help but watch, for him been in her sight after so long was wonderful. To witness him in the flesh, to see his movements...

A glass of wine for courage would have gone down nicely but yet somehow she already felt drunk on adrenaline. On the thought that he could still welcome her with open arms. That he could still love her.

Before she knew it, she was walking towards Jack Dawson.

This chapter is a little short as it is more like a prologue. The next ones will be longer.