Best Romance Books Ever Novels & Stories

I leaned in a fraction of an inch, a teasing glint in my eyes, "I prefer classic literature. Russian realism, psychological thrillers. Dostoyevsky, Fitzgerald, Hemingway. I like substance." "Substance?!" Ruby mocked, completely offended. "Are you implying my romance novels don't have substance? Excuse you, but enemies-to-lovers tropes require intense psychological maneuvering! The angst! The tension! It's art, Alexander. Your little Russian thrillers have nothing on a slow-burn romance."

"Nanny, please. Don’t remind me. I’m trying to forget that ever happened." "Forget? Oh no, my dear. You can't forget something like that. This is fate, darling! You slept with him, and now he’s your boss? You couldn't write a better romance novel if you tried!" she exclaims, practically bouncing in her seat. I stab at my food. "This isn’t a romance novel, Nanny. This is my life, and I’m just trying to do my job without embarrassing myself."

The shelves stood tall and proud, adorned with books that I had arranged in a way that I found ‘perfect’. “You read a lot of romance, don’t you?” I laughed, looking away. “Well, true love is much easier to find in the pages of those books.” I took one of my favourites from a shelf. “You see this one— every time I come back to read it, their love story is unchanged. It’s ever as strong and genuine. Something you can’t say about love in the real world.”

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My hand reached out almost automatically and I picked up a worn paperback titled “Beneath the Wolf Moon.” A wolf-themed romance. Go figure. “You are going for those cheesy ones,” Emma teased from a nearby shelf. “They’re comforting,” I replied, hugging the book to my chest. “You always know who ends up together, no one actually gets punched in the face, and the girl doesn’t have to decide between two emotionally unstable guys.” She snorted. “Wish real life worked like that.” “Same.”

I needed to cut her off. "Look, they're doing the walking around the fire thing." She said. I hummed non committal. "I read about it in this book by Drethi Anis. Five thousand nights of obsession. The book was so good." "You read?" I asked. I had never seen any book in her apartment or caught her with a book. "Yes." She blushed, then quietly. "Romance books." "You don't strike me as the romance type." I looked at her intently. "Is it one of those raunchy books with shirtless men carrying scabbards on the cover."

I forced my brain to assimilate the words until I couldn't take it any longer. I loved reading, in fact I had huge collections of crime and mystery novels because they were my favorite genre, but romance and historical . . . anything? Count me out. There was just something about ‘soulmates’ and romance that just grossed me out and the fact that this book had both just made me hate it. I stretched and yawned as I reached for my bed. I fell on my bed, face down. I didn't bother with my purple and white duvet as I let myself fall into slumber, Kenneth's smiling face the last thing I thought of.

For now, I would try to relax. While choosing from some of the novels that Karen left here, I was glad that I still knew how to read. Mom said that what I picked was the one Karen kept on reading beside me for the past two weeks. My friend told Mom that it was indeed my favorite love story. It was about a romantic couple that stood the test of time. The guy hurt his girlfriend so much, but in the end, love proved that it conquers everything. The woman was able to forgive him for what he had done. After all, the past would be forever in the past, and nothing or no one could ever change that.

“What are you? A slam book? How can you love yourself when you don’t even recognize love itself?” Romance never goes out of style. It does not wither or die like plants in a glimpse of summer. We fall into its captivating curse the moment we find perfection in a soul filled with flaws. The second we see beauty in the laceration of their scars and lips maneuvered by deception, we are bound to plunge into the deepest fragment of their life. The day our heart palpitates at a rapid velocity is the day we chain ourselves to an immeasurable misery.

Most of them were what I expected—books on strategy, history, a few on Italian mafia politics. And then, tucked on the bottom shelf, almost hidden— "You weren't kidding about these?" I pulled one out, raising an eyebrow. "Really?" "Put that back." "The Duke's Dangerous Desire," I read aloud, grinning. "A Rake's Redemption. The Highlander's Captive Bride—" "Jameson." Her voice was sharp, but I could hear the embarrassment underneath. "Put them back." "I'm not judging," I said, turning to face her. "I'm just surprised. You kill people for a living, but you read romance novels?"