I have not been as upset at the end of book since I read Madame Bovary. 
 And you know what? This book was a slow start for me, I didn't understand why these two people hooked up with each other. He is 20 and she is 39... and the attraction, the curiosity and the lust didn't seem compelling enough to overcome the age difference so I spent the first 1/3 of the book thinking 'but why?' How can this flimsy start, this feeble approach to a relationship sustain this story? 
 AND I was a bit turned off by the materialistic interests of both characters. I really don't give a rats what brand shoe or watch people wear or what top selling artist's work is hanging on the wall. Or the endless descriptions of luxury mansions and private chefs. It's a lifestyle that holds no appeal to me (I read most of this book while staying in a cabin with no electricity, bunk beds and trek out into freezing rain to a long drop toilet. Where my kids roamed freely around all these little alpine lakes in a gang of kids, and we played cricket in the mud as the last snow of spring clung to the mountains.... so yeah. I can't see the point of the bling TBH). 
 BUT I was in the wilderness and I had this book, and I kept on reading and I came to slowly, slowly believe in this love story. This god-damn, impossible love story. Fuck YOU Robinne Lee. You've ripped my bloody heart out of my chest. 
 (view spoiler)[This book does not have a HEA. (hide spoiler)]