Envy (Luxe, #3)

by Anna Godbersen

“But not enough to make me want to spend the evening with you, my dear.”

She was like a heroine in a novel that she herself was writing; the character kept protesting that she was too strong for love, and yet the narrator went on describing her desire.

“My wife loves dirty rumors, you see,” Henry heard himself say with stale jollity, “and so she has never been over-fond of bathing.”

Diana was still writing her own story; the best heroines, she’d always believed, took their fate into their own hands.

To look in the face of hard things and keep moving forward—that’s what one has to do.”

Life was a short window, and there was no sense in doing the wrong thing over and over even if it was so difficult to stop.

There was plenty of life left, and if he had to, he would use it all to get her back. The time had passed for making promises to her—all that was left for him was to act.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that there will always be a gentleman to dance with, except at just the moment when you require one most.

The world was such a marvel—it gave you trials, but if you were still and concentrated, if you tried to do the right thing, it always provided you with salvation.

know that I might die, but that seems a happier end than being without you, and anyway it seems to me that looking in the face of hard things and still being able to move forward, even when the end includes grave danger and the possibility of death, is the mark of a man.

I am for all the pain I have caused you, and that if I die, you were the one true love of my life.