Jane Eyre Third Edition Novels & Stories

Two real marriage certificates and one cheap counterfeit looked almost identical under the blistering noon sun. Nora Reed held the two real ones like trophies, laughing so hard she had to lean into Grant Hale's arms. "You are unbelievable, Grant," she said. "You really said that to Elara? Aren't you scared she will get so mad she actually runs off with someone else?" Grant wrapped an arm around her waist and smiled like the answer was obvious. "Run off? With who? Who else would marry her?"

Author Note: Dear Readers, Since English is not my first language, there will be tons of grammatical mistakes. Please continue reading this book only if you don't have any issues with that. Rest I can guarantee you that you won't get bored with the storyline. The following are my books if interested do give a look over them: 1. Her Unloved Mate (Book 1) 2. My Bride is Not a Human (Book 2) 3. Her Chosen Mate (Book 3)

It was a bridge between his past and our present. In the center of the room stood the crib. It was mahogany, dark and rich, polished to a mirror shine. It looked sturdy enough to survive an earthquake. And above it... Above the crib hung a mobile. But not plastic animals. It was made of delicate glass stars and... pages. I walked closer. The "stars" were folded from paper. "Are those..." I reached out to touch one. "Alex, are these book pages?" "First editions," he murmured, standing behind me. "Pride and Prejudice. Jane Eyre. The Great Gatsby."

I reread my favorite books too; I've read Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte six times. I head into the store, looking around to see which area I need to be in. It takes me about six minutes to find the aisle with the home pregnancy tests, then it takes me another two minutes to chose which one I want. I stand in line behind a large man in overalls and boots and a woman in her late thirties maybe who kept smiling at me. I am so nervous and I am trying to hide my test, like I am a hiding a bomb or something. I'm not sure why I am so embarrassed but I am.

The meal is delicious and filling, making me feel rather drowsy. Despite my tiring day, I am not quite ready for bed, so when Taylor heads to his study, I curl up on the couch in front of the wood-burning stove. I find the book I have been reading on the app on my phone and turn on some Third Eye Blind, marvelling at all the technology in one small device, once again. I am soon engrossed in Jane Eyre, despite having read the book numerous times. I must have fallen asleep on the couch as I find myself in Taylor's arms as he carries me into the bedroom. "What time is it?" I whisper into his chest.

- Third floor, room number seven. Jane had quickly taken a shower, but she didn’t remove her makeup, touching it up somewhat instead. She also triple confirmed that the fragrance on her was something that Jeffrey loved. As time passed, she felt the nervousness slowly overtaking her. Suddenly, the door creaked. Jane froze. Jeffrey was here!

“ Who knew there was a treasure hidden here? Wait…is that a first edition Jane Eyre?” I turn to him, eyes wide , and he stands there , hands in pockets, looking proud or… sheepish? He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “ Actually, I haven’t read the most of the books there. I got them, so I could pretend I wasn’t as boring as people saw me to be. I could casually slip it into a conversation and say, ‘ I have a first edition Jane Eyre’.”

"All twelve chapters." "Yes," Aurora said. The kitchen around Aurora was entirely silent. The afternoon sun was beginning to fade into early evening shadows. "Chapter three is the chapter everyone will read twice," the editor said. Aurora remembered chapter three perfectly. It was about the night kitchen and the two in the morning recipe that changed everything. "But chapter twelve is different," the editor said. The editor paused again, letting the silence stretch out between them. "Chapter twelve is the one that ends on the word home," the editor said.

The one thing that she turns to when she needs an escape from her reality at the moment. “You must have something.” Gabe prombts her. “An old, worn out copy of Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë that I keep in between my mattresses so that no one will find it and take it from me. Reading that book always brings me comfort.” And gives her hope. It makes her feel so much better to read it.

What surprises me, even more, was that I had offered my left hand and my wedding ring was nowhere to be seen. Oh, crap. Where was it? “Oh, the feeling is mutual. So, what did who do to you that poor Jane Eyre is suffering?” He asks me, purposefully fishing as he leans back again. What do I tell this man whose name sounds similar to mine? I lightly shrug, “With all due respect, sir, I came here to escape, not reminisce.” I tell him as politely as I could possibly muster and in turn, I receive a chuckle. “Fair enough, I respect that,” he starts, then points to my discarded book, “You must be a serious Bronte fan if you’re reading the first edition of Jane Eyre.” He says and my eyes immediately