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Whenever her husband gazed at her now, all Madeleine saw was a slow burning joy. It practically lit him from within.
I mean for you to know, in every motherly way that I can convey it, that your parents were in love. That we were twin spirits in love. And how special you were to us from the very beginning, the spark born from us both.
“Let’s make you a gazelle. Graceful, fleet. A creature of the wadis and steppes, right at home in the heat.” She lifted a hand to his hair, turned her face toward his. “Perfect,” she said.
“Still happy, Mrs. Astor?” “Yes.” She looked at him sideways from beneath the brim of her Panama hat. “Are you, Colonel Astor?”
“I am,” he said soberly, “without question, the happiest man in the world.”
“Do you know the moment I fell in love with you?” She smiled drowsily up at the stars. “Tell me.” “When you asked to read my book. Do you remember that? That night on the balcony, back in Bar Harbor?”
So they’d said the words after all. And the words had taken nothing away from them, their dark and precious bond. The words had only added another flavor, smoky sweet, like the night.
“It’s plain as day Jack adores you. I think he adores you to the point that the thought of being without you terrifies him to the core. And for a man like Jack Astor, that is significant.”
Kitty stood in their midst, dancing, barking,
“Paris,” he said, “because that’s where we first were sure of her, in the City of Light.”
“John Jacob,” she said. “How many of us do there need to be? Let’s give him a name of his own. Something new.”
“And I want to get you a proper meal,” he went on with barely a pause, “because you’re so grumpy without one.”
“As will I,” said Jack. “We’ll watch for Titanic together. A dollar to the person who sights her first.”
An hour or so later, Carrie Endres, with her sharp blue eyes and smiling ways, won the dollar.
Titanic arrived eating up the flat horizon. Titanic arrived swallowing the waves.
I have learned that you do not have to speak to the press at all. You owe them nothing. You don’t have to speak.
All three of us together, locked in love for that blink of a moment in time.
The best memory I have about Titanic was that she was so large.
“Are you pleased to be going home?” Madeleine answered as honestly as she could. “I am pleased to be with you, no matter where we go.”
Tell you what, I’ve run into at least three acquaintances on board in the company of ladies who are definitely not their wives, including Ben Guggenheim. If any reporters attempt to accost us dockside in New York, we’ll just point our fingers in their direction and scurry the other way.”
“Don’t worry, beloved. We’ll weather any storm. You and me and baby Muddington.”
“And our dog, too, obviously,” Jack said, reaching down to stroke a hand along the Airedale’s back. “Our own perfect family. We’ll be happy as clams. I guarantee it.”
The Astors paused for a moment at the wide foot of the grand staircase, allowing themselves to be noticed, and when she looked up at her husband, Madeleine honestly thought there could not be a more attractive man in the room, White House anecdotes or no. Certainly there could be no man more compelling. Jack’s right, she thought. Everything will be fine.
Jack lowered his gilt lashes, lifted her hand to his lips. Beneath the warm lights, his hair was sandy gold and dark. “Am I the most fortunate of men?”
“Lucky us,” he whispered against her hand. “Yes,” she said. “Lucky us.”
Widener. “Hearts may be easily broken, young lady, just as promises made in the heat of the moment may be. It pays to keep a cool head in courtship.”
side. He is my rock and my true north and my whole heart.
Society can be . . . extremely unforgiving.”
Titanic was a ship full of sheep, ready to be herded. You hardly had to think about anything at all. All you had to do was enjoy your captivity, and have faith that everything would be well.
She laughed and clutched her hands over his. “Dear me! I’m sorry I’m so clumsy but, oh, Jack! I think she moved!” His face lit up with a sudden quick delight.
In front of all the other people walking and dawdling nearby, Jack captured her chin with the curl of his fingers and kissed her on the lips.
“Never fear. I regretfully declined, telling her I had already booked my own table at the Ritz and that I was looking forward to enjoying dinner alone with my beautiful bride too much to cancel it.”
She watched it from the sitting room window instead, already dressed for dinner in a gown of iridescent opal satin and net, rows of silver glass beads flashing and dancing against her ankles along the hem. It was a Poiret, one of her best; for the rest of her life, she would associate the finest fashion house in Paris with ice and cold and death.
Halfway through dessert, he’d put down his sherry, reached for her hand. Their fingers met, skin to skin, all her rings and bracelets afire like the sunset in the low, flattering light.