Read Online Jane and Bingley (Countdown to Christmas Book 8) by Jenni James - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jenni James
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bought herself for a decoration earlier that year, never believing she’d wear it. She picked it up, her fingers tracing the intricate beadwork and ribbons adorning it. It’d be absolutely perfect. Though it was just an optional masquerade, maybe she’d wear it. Nothing too dramatic. And then gauge his reaction that way.
She attempted a smirk and put the mask on. Then she held the dress up in front of the floor-length mirror in her bedroom. It was totally dramatic. But fun. She bit her lip and twirled from side to side. It was a ball. An honest-to-goodness ball. And with incredible eye makeup and an amazing hairdo, she’d kill it. Maybe for tonight, she would be Cinderella and surprise her almost-prince at the ball.
For the first time in days, she giggled. Yes, this is where she was meant to be. It felt right to go, and it was about time she listened to her heart over her brain anyway.
Charles waited in his car outside Jane’s apartment complex for thirty minutes—hoping she’d come out and he could offer her a ride—before driving over to the charity ball without her. His heart ached, and he wondered again for the eightieth time if he was doing the right thing. He wished he could take her dancing. He’d love to hold her close and be together. She didn’t have to talk—not one word—if she didn’t want to . . . he just missed her.
The charity event would last several hours. Several very boring and lonely hours. Charles sighed as he walked in and presented his invitation. He was welcomed kindly and shown to his table. Curious, he walked around the empty table and read the place cards. He’d been seated by some pretty influential people, though it didn’t look like anyone else had arrived as of yet. So he walked over to look at the items listed for auction instead of sitting down.
His $400 tickets had paid for a small hors d'oeuvres buffet table, and then there would be an exquisite five-course meal—that would be added to his tab if he accepted and handed in one of the place cards at the table. Each person had a few place cards to be used for the dinner, and other items available for purchase to help with the charity. These meals were usually a thousand dollars apiece, but Charles rarely bought a meal.
After hosting some of his own events through work—and witnessing firsthand how much the hotel gouged them with their usual 70% per meal fee, he realized it was much better to simply write a check for the amount of the dinner than to pay for some expensive chef’s wages and only give three hundred or so to the actual charity.
There were some nice items up for auction. Summer vacations in the Swiss Alps, Spain, France, Hawaii, and even one for three months on the beach in San Diego—that one was tempting. Oh, so tempting. There were also some cruises up for grabs, as well as fine jewelry, electronic gadgets, season tickets to the opera, theater, and even some sports teams. Choice seats at the upcoming Super Bowl and different hotel and ski resort packages. Fine restaurants and salon visits—it even looked like some plastic surgery too. Why were the people he associated with so desperate to change themselves? So much so that now, it was considered a nice prize to win something like plastic surgery at an auction? Sadly, even his own family had fallen for the cosmetic perfection trap too. Disgusted, he shook his head and turned away.
This night was going to be awful. He knew it.
As he made his way to the hors d’oeuvres, he overheard two women gushing over their gowns and jewelry. Their comments, though sweet, came out almost hostile, as if these women had spent years despising each other.
He looked over the array of foods before him, and all at once, his world seemed so shallow, as though it was lost in a sea of impressing and never truly living, where one was always attempting to one up the other. Maybe that was what he loved most about Jane. She seemed able to ground him, make him realize how
She attempted a smirk and put the mask on. Then she held the dress up in front of the floor-length mirror in her bedroom. It was totally dramatic. But fun. She bit her lip and twirled from side to side. It was a ball. An honest-to-goodness ball. And with incredible eye makeup and an amazing hairdo, she’d kill it. Maybe for tonight, she would be Cinderella and surprise her almost-prince at the ball.
For the first time in days, she giggled. Yes, this is where she was meant to be. It felt right to go, and it was about time she listened to her heart over her brain anyway.
Charles waited in his car outside Jane’s apartment complex for thirty minutes—hoping she’d come out and he could offer her a ride—before driving over to the charity ball without her. His heart ached, and he wondered again for the eightieth time if he was doing the right thing. He wished he could take her dancing. He’d love to hold her close and be together. She didn’t have to talk—not one word—if she didn’t want to . . . he just missed her.
The charity event would last several hours. Several very boring and lonely hours. Charles sighed as he walked in and presented his invitation. He was welcomed kindly and shown to his table. Curious, he walked around the empty table and read the place cards. He’d been seated by some pretty influential people, though it didn’t look like anyone else had arrived as of yet. So he walked over to look at the items listed for auction instead of sitting down.
His $400 tickets had paid for a small hors d'oeuvres buffet table, and then there would be an exquisite five-course meal—that would be added to his tab if he accepted and handed in one of the place cards at the table. Each person had a few place cards to be used for the dinner, and other items available for purchase to help with the charity. These meals were usually a thousand dollars apiece, but Charles rarely bought a meal.
After hosting some of his own events through work—and witnessing firsthand how much the hotel gouged them with their usual 70% per meal fee, he realized it was much better to simply write a check for the amount of the dinner than to pay for some expensive chef’s wages and only give three hundred or so to the actual charity.
There were some nice items up for auction. Summer vacations in the Swiss Alps, Spain, France, Hawaii, and even one for three months on the beach in San Diego—that one was tempting. Oh, so tempting. There were also some cruises up for grabs, as well as fine jewelry, electronic gadgets, season tickets to the opera, theater, and even some sports teams. Choice seats at the upcoming Super Bowl and different hotel and ski resort packages. Fine restaurants and salon visits—it even looked like some plastic surgery too. Why were the people he associated with so desperate to change themselves? So much so that now, it was considered a nice prize to win something like plastic surgery at an auction? Sadly, even his own family had fallen for the cosmetic perfection trap too. Disgusted, he shook his head and turned away.
This night was going to be awful. He knew it.
As he made his way to the hors d’oeuvres, he overheard two women gushing over their gowns and jewelry. Their comments, though sweet, came out almost hostile, as if these women had spent years despising each other.
He looked over the array of foods before him, and all at once, his world seemed so shallow, as though it was lost in a sea of impressing and never truly living, where one was always attempting to one up the other. Maybe that was what he loved most about Jane. She seemed able to ground him, make him realize how
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