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"Do tell me, how is it that . . .?"

"Oh, yes, I know that he . . ."

" . . . the divine luxury of the . . ."

Their voices continued rambling in the background while I kept to my thoughts. Lunch was delicious, but the food brought a wave of motion sickness with it as well. Luckily, it managed to stay in my bowels rather than puke itself all over the expensive carpeting.

The tuxedo was stiff against my body, engulfing me in uncomfortableness. I sat with back arched at the forefront of the stick-woven chair, keeping my back perfectly straight and vertical to the floor. My twin half-sisters, Phoebe and Daisy, elegantly laid the food cloth on their laps with nimble fingers before turning to each other and chatting.

Mother and father were both deep in a quiet conversation regarding who-knows-what on the other side of the round table, their faces dark and serious; the lighting from the table lamps only contributed to their solemn demeanor.

Charlotte, on the other hand, immediately joined the twins' conversations once they turned to each other. They allowed her in, but both threw me nervous glances behind their shoulders, as if expecting me to join them as well.

Um . . . no.

I sighed and leaned back in the chair, feeling the digested food rumbling in my stomach. The only reason I was prone to being seasick was because I was eating food on a ship. However, if I didn't know this was a ship I dined on, I would have had no problems keeping my food down.

All at once, the men who occupied the table stood up and smiled down at their wives before they turned to leave. Father, however, locked eyes with me before leaving.

"Would you like to join me and the other gentlemen, Louis?" he asked.

I shook my head and managed a smile of reassurance—frankly, I didn't want to drink any brandy or smoke any cigars while chatting incessantly about the mens' gold mines owned in California. Yes, that was the typical conversation in the smoking lounge.

Yanking the cloth from my lap and pressing it firmly to my lips, I set it on the table and stood up to leave. 

"Mother, I'm going back to my room," I told her, kissing her cheek lightly.

"Alright, Louis. But please be back in time for dinner."

"I will," I vowed before turning on my heel.

I exited the lunch room and made my way down the hall, where women dressed out in floor-length dresses and expensive jewelry and men in sharp tuxedos and highly-polished shoes passed by me without a single word. 

As I walked beside the handcrafted oakwood walls, I wove around the dozens of people and finally found myself at the Grand Staircase of First-Class.

I stared at the clock embedded in the mahogany panel surrounded by two beautifully-crafted angels. The sunlight from the glass dome above reflected on the artwork and left me speechless with awe.

I strolled down the wooden steps gracefully, trying not to stare in awe at the luxury a ship could possess. I knew that I should have already been accustomed to the exquisite life of the wealthy—and I was, for that matter—but I never knew how it could spread to a ship like the Titanic . . .

Pulling my most calm, tranquil and slightly bored face, I walked down the carpeted hall down to my cabin. Pulling out the key, I pushed against the white-painted door and stepped inside. Immediately, I stripped of everything on my body and clamored into the poor people's clothing before locking the door and leaving.

Again, I received several curious glances in my direction as I headed down the length of the hall to the ship's gymnasium. Women in floor-length dresses pointed and whispered in shrill voices, while the men frowned disapprovingly at my attire; many children clinging to their mothers stared with wide eyes and small mouths shaped in an 'o'.

I stopped at the gymnasium a few minutes later, but all of it was currently occupied by couples and individuals, so I left not a moment later. I traversed the grand, floating palace with nothing to do, and before I knew it, dinnertime had arrived.

----

When I returned to my cabin, Father scolded me for wearing peasantry clothing yet again.

"Louis, you must stop wearing such filthy clothing," he reprimanded.

"But Father, my normal attire suffocates me every minute I wear it!"

"And why does that suddenly pertain to anything now?"

That silenced me, and Father gave a satisfied nod as an indication that our civil argument was over. I gritted my teeth together, trying to think of something in retaliation, but by the time it almost slipped off my tongue, he already exited my room.

Slightly flustered and defeated, I stripped the clothes I wore and handed them to Dahlia before turning to the bathing room and taking a much-needed bath in the tub. As I finished, I dried myself and made my way back to my bedroom to change into more suitable attire for the evening. While tying the bow around my neck Anabelle brushed my suit with gentle fingers, wiping off any excess dust.

At last, I was prepared to meet the rest of the family at the table upstairs. "Thank you, Anabelle. You can go now."

She produced a shy grin, curtsied, and trotted out through the door before me. I gazed down the hallway full of people bustling around and made my way upstairs tuxedos played several of Beethoven's symphonies on either the violin, viola, or cello.

I quickly located Mother and Father and my sisters sitting at a table towards the front of the room; Father and Mother were chatting away with Benjamin Guggenheim and John Jacob Astor, while the twins mingled with their other sisters. I cantered over to them quickly, and sat down in a chair beside my father.

"Ah, Louis! Mr. Guggenheim, this is my eldest, Louis—," Father motioned to the said Mr. Guggenheim, and he in turn acknowledged me with a nod, "—and Mr. John Astor." He as well acknowledged me with a quick head nod before turning to Mother.

Just as the two wealthy businessmen turned back to their incessant chattering, Father turned to me again: "And that woman with Mr. Guggenheim is his mistress, Ms. Léontine Aubert. I refused to say it aloud, although seemingly everyone knows. And if you didn't know already, Mr. John Astor IV here is supposedly the richest man in the world."

I nodded my head to these new yet useless pieces of information I acquired, and leaned to the side as a waiter placed my dinner in front of me; everyone else did the same as their dinners arrived.

I didn't have much of an appetite for Hors d'oeuvres, nor for the other courses served, so my other option was to quietly eavesdrop on the other conversations taking place around table.

". . . but your eldest surely isn't yours?" I heard the mistress pipe up.

The table suddenly fell silent as I realized that everyone knew I overheard those last few words.

"What?" I asked skeptically.

"Well, I mean," the mistress (I had already forgotten her name) piped up in a drawling voice, "look at how brown his skin is, and the way he struts around in beggars' clothing—!"

I suddenly jolted up from the table, furious at the woman's words that insulted me. As I hastened out of the place, I noticed that nobody decided to stop me.

Well, good, they can allow me to rant and rave in peace.

I continued walking until I reached the upper deck of the ship, towards the stern end where the other low-lifes strolled around nonchalantly. I marched all the way towards the end of the ship where the British flag whipped in the wind, and stopped at the railing.

"Hey, look!"

I slightly jumped at the Scottish accent that boomed from behind me and broke through my thoughts. I whirled around to see two blundering idiots gazing hungrily at me; all of them looked lower than Third Class status.

"It's one of 'em snobbish fellas!"

A lump grew in my throat as they approached me, cracking their burly knuckles in unison. I backed up as far as possible until I reached the railing, and looking down, I saw the tremendous wake left behind by the ship's propellors a hundred feet below in the icy water of the Atlantic.

One of the idiots grabbed at me, yanking on the expensive clothes carelessly. "Maybe you should be our new boy toy, eh?"

I winced in disgust, but wasn't able to say anything because my mouth was locked in fear. Suddenly, a fist rammed full-force into my face, and I heard a sharp crack as something probably broke inside my mouth. Two more punches landed in my gut, and my breaths came in strained wheezes as I doubled over on the ground.

Loud guffaws of manic laughter came from the two, and then one of them hoisted my weakened body onto his broad shoulders and began to carry me away until he suddenly collapsed on itself.

I groaned in pain as I fell to the wooden floorboards of the deck, but I didn't dare move as I heard my attackers dealing with someone else from behind. Once the fight silenced, I brought a hand to my bleeding cheek and held it there.

"Oh my god, are you OK?" came my savior.

"Of course not, didn't you see what happened?" I responded bitterly.

He chuckled briefly, and my anger suddenly flared. What could possibly be funny?

"Yeah, I saw it all."

The voice sounded familiar, all to familiar to my ears. I turned ever-so-slightly, and almost came nose-to-nose with none other than Harry.

"Oh! Erm, hello again."

His cheeks lifted into a sparkling smile, and my heart spontaneously did cartwheels at the lovely sight. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and his curly hair floundered with each step like fish on dry land.

"Here, lemme help you, mate." 

He wrapped his arms around my lower half and hastily tugged me to my feet, which caused a sharp cry of pain from me to pierce the air. He stiffened, and brought me back down to the deck again, hovering over me and examining my bloodied and bruised face.

Thundering footsteps pounded repeatedly on the deck not too far from where I laid, and as I looked up I saw Mother frantically jogging alongside two other officers with dress hiked up. Mr. Guggenheim followed close behind.

"Louis?! Lou—?! Oh, there he is," she screeched, her face relaxing as she saw me. Yet, when her eyes landed on Harry hovering above me, her face blanched.

"Arrest him," Mr. Guggenheim commanded the officers, motioning to Harry.

I made a squeak of protest as Harry's wrists were wrapped in steel handcuffs, but Mother wrapped a towel around me and wiped a cloth across my bloody cheek.

"You are henceforth charged with assault on a passenger this 10th—"

"I didn't assault him," Harry replied bluntly.

"Alright, boy, there's no need to lie—"

"He didn't assault me." I finally had regained the strength to speak.

Mother and Mr. Guggenheim stared with shock etched on their faces at me, while the officers stared boredly at Harry's neck. Harry, on the other hand, looked at me expectantly, waiting for the truth to spill.

"No, there were two others from Third Class that began jostling me, and one of them threw the blows. But Harry, here, chased them away and kindly saved me from the brutes," I said coolly.

"Well, the boy's a hero, then," Mr. Guggenheim remarked. "He should be rewarded to, say, dinner with the Tomlinson family tomorrow night?"

I glanced hopefully at Mother, wondering if she would agree. She nodded her head and forced a smile on her face, but her eyes continued to evoke suspicion at my savior. 

"Yes, I would be delighted to meet your family, Mister . . .?"

"Styles. Harold Styles, ma'am," Harry responded eagerly as the officers unchained him.

"Very well, Mr. Styles. I shall see you tomorrow night." She gave him one last glare of faked happiness before turning on her heel and beckoning for me to follow.

I stared at Harry peculiarly, silently thanking him for saving me tonight. "Tomorrow night it is, then."

We held our gazes until I caught up with Mother and Mr. Guggenheim; I asked Mother if I could retreat back to my cabin for the night, and she allowed me, reminding me to tell Anabelle and Dahlia to tend to my wounds.

----

"Oh, my goodness!" Anabelle shrieked.

I entered my cabin weakly, holding the same cloth to my swollen cheek the entire way here. Anabelle immediately strutted up to me, holding a jar of hot water in one hand.

"What happened, sir?" she asked worriedly.

I groaned with mild pain as she set a hot towel on my face. "Erm, two fools decided to try their hand at kidnapping me, but someone saved me before it got too out of control."

"Oh?" she asked curiously as she began removing my clothes, preparing me for bed. "Who, may I ask? Was it that Harry lad, sir?"

For no particular reason, I felt a fierce blush overtake my cheeks at the mention of his name. "Y-yes, it was."

From the corner of my eyes I noticed Anabelle pause with the jug in hand, staring at me. I briefly wondered what she was thinking about, but then she snapped me from my thoughts. 

"Well, that's very good, sir. I heard that he is being treated to dinner tomorrow night?"

"Indeed, Anabelle. After all, he was very brave to save me from those blundering idiots called men," I remarked brashly.

Again, she gave me a long look of slight curiosity before she removed the wet towel and replaced it with a new, clean one. "Sir, that is all I can do for you right at the moment. For now, only time will heal those bruises."

"Thank you, Anabelle. You may go now." 

She curtsied politely and quickly exited the room, leaving me to tend to myself to get prepared for bed.

As I pulled on my nightgown I couldn't help feeling enthralled by the thought of Harry saving me. It was a magical moment right then and there, as if Fate planned it all out. I was even more thrilled, however, by the thought that Harry would be at dinner tomorrow night. 

What is it about him that excites me so much? I thought wearily as I laid down in bed and closed my eyes for the night.

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