Novel & Cerita Realistic Romance

Even though I love thrillers, romantic things like that are surely every woman’s dream, right? “You and your husband are the same,” Mariyam joked. “Me?” I chuckled softly. “I don’t know, maybe.” I wasn’t even sure how to answer. What if the romance they meant was different from the romance Miron meant? When my body experienced an orgasm, it was thanks to Miron’s punishment. Then, he gave me a pasca-sex treatment that probably no other woman would ever get. Isn’t that a form of romance? Like dark romance? “Aren’t you and Sir Miron going on dates like that on a cruise ship, too?” Mariyam’s tone sounded certain.

#Romance #Thrilling #Suspense #Action #Dramas This is going to be the best of best so don't miss any part. @Authoress Ricky Be expecting this next week readers. I love you all💓💓 Here is a blurb about the book

“Because I do.” He studies me. “You actually believe in that.” “Yes.” I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you?” He looks at me with something that feels almost fond… and almost sad. “True love doesn’t exist, baby,” he says lightly, like he’s discussing the weather. “That’s just something people tell themselves because reality sounds less appealing.” I stare at him. “That’s not true.” “It absolutely is.” “Tristan, that’s a horrible thing to believe.” “It’s a realistic thing to believe.” He tilts his head slightly. “Love is chemistry. Attachment. Timing. People romanticize it because admitting it’s mostly circumstance sounds depressing.”

persona had completely liquefied and was replaced by something raw and searching. "The catch is that I’m selfish, Oma. My life has been a series of choreographed moves. It has always been corporate meetings, mergers, closing contract deals, Nora, and the likes… it’s all fake. But with you, the world feels real. I’m not protecting you because I am obliged to do so. Instead, I am doing it because, for the first time, I want to. So please allow me." I felt a flutter in my chest, not the baby, but a spark of something I hadn’t felt in a long time, it was hope that after all, there may be light at the end of the tunnel.

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."

I don’t trust the word when people say it to me. His gaze narrowed. ‘Are you saying you love me?’ Lea ran the tip of her tongue over her parchment-dry lips. ‘It wouldn’t matter if I did or not. You don’t love me the way I want to be loved.’ He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he lowered his hand from his face to look at her. ‘No one can love anyone the way they want to be loved. The standard is set too high, fed by romantic fantasies encouraged by popular culture. It’s not real, Lea. What you feel for me is not real, it’s just a fantasy.’

“I’m a discerning viewer who expects more than fill-in-the-blank characters and a predictable plot.” “Oh, please.” Daisy kicked her feet up onto the coffee table. “Exploding buildings and car chases aren’t predictable?” “You’re assuming I like action movies.” “You don’t?” “Oh, I do.” He set his empty glass down. “But you shouldn’t assume.” “But I was right.” “Whatever.” He glanced back at the TV. “Bottom line—rom-coms are wildly unrealistic. It’s always the same thing. Two people hate each other, argue nonstop, then suddenly—boom—true love.”

Still, everything he was saying unnerved and excited every fiber of my being in the same instant. I knew it was foolish. I also knew I couldn’t possibly take another round, yet here I was, winding my body with his, begging without words for him to keep going. Until this moment, I’d chalked up the romance novels I read to fantasy. Ludicrous notions of perfection that no one could achieve outside their dreams. There’s always something. A cough, a fart, even hair in the worst possible place—something jarring the all-consuming sensations back to realism. But this? This wasn’t that. He wasn’t that.

“We will need to do those things in public to deceive people. People on social media are smart, babe. They can sense bullshit from just posting one word. I said this before, Sandy. So, yes. The fourth rule will be; romance in public, friendship in private.” I blinked several times. One part of me was happy that I would get to do the things I've always dreamt to do with him but the other part was skeptical about the result. I would just feel like his one-night stands; we do the deed and that's all. “I think these rules will do for now. I need to go to bed and think over this,” I said, feeling tired all of a sudden. I opened the door and was about to leave when he got out of the car before me

All my life I’ve watched and breathed action and sci-fi, is there any other genre as entertaining as these two? “You bet there are.” “As long as it’s not romance then.” He goes silent, and I give him a narrowed eye look, he doesn’t meet my eyes. It almost went past my head that my fake husband is a romantic at heart, and those types will feed their delusions. “I have an idea. Come somewhere with me instead.” he says changing lanes, swinging the car out of our current lane. I cuss under my breath. He has his hand out in front of me, like he doesn’t trust the seat belt with my life.