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Diana felt she was beginning to understand why, in all those novels she read, the headiest loves were the loves that couldn't be.

Anna Godbersen

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Anna Godbersen
Age: 44
Born: 1980
Born: April 10
Writer
Berkeley
California
Loves
Beginning
Couldn
Novel
Read
Understand
Felt
Diana
Novels

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So this was betrayal. It was like being left alone in the desert at dusk without water or warmth. It left your mouth dry and will broken. It sapped your tears and made you hollow.
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After Henry's treatment of her she wasn't sure that men could honestly love women but she wanted to believe it. She wanted to be told pretty things and for the frightening clip of her heart to slow to something more reasonable.
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It had been an awful thing to lose Henry the first time, to matrimony, but to discover what a false front he was capable of was another kind of blow, and it had left her almost speechless. Then there was the fury with herself—for she had known what Henry’s love was, and still she had gone back to suffer a little more at his hands.
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Well, if you weren't flirting with him-his voice had now grown a little plaintive-who was he, and what did you want with him anyway? If you are so determined to bore me, I may just have to go home. Astrid sighed carelessly, What a shame, when I am wearing such a pretty dress.
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That is what I want to tell you about: the girls with their short skirts and bright eyes and big-city dreams. The girls of 1929.
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She was trying to sound tough and impatient, but she knew that vulnerable desire to be wooed was still brimming in her tone.
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Diana knew it wouldn't be right, but then she told herself that things only looked wrong when there was someone to see you.
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He turned his dark eyes on the girl whom he had dreamed of so often over the previous months. Beside him, at that very moment of existence, at the heart of torrential downpour, she was exquisitely real, and she, too, seemed content to go on sitting there forever.
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Her life, she realized, had all the charm of a steel trap.
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The headiest loves were the loves that couldn't be.
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There was no pleasure like being envied on a mass scale.
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You don’t need to marry a man with millions. You only need to be your exquisite self.
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She found herself longing for home-not just for the hotel but for New York and all the real novels that she could lose herself in there.
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Living too much in one's head can be dangerous.
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THE LUXE IS . . . Pretty girls in pretty dresses, partying until dawn. Irresistible boys with mischievous smiles and dangerous intentions. White lies, dark secrets, and scandalous hookups. This is Manhattan in 1899.
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