Romantic Novels Must Read Novels & Stories

Chapter 1 I sat at my desk trying hard to focus on the book in front of me, but it was a losing battle. Although Rhyme of The Ancient Mariner may be an all time classic, it was nowhere near as interesting as Miss Ross's amazing ass. Friday's were dress down days for the teachers and I lived for them. Usually on these afternoons I was treated to the sight of my favorite teacher's fine ass in a pair of fairly tight jeans.

Even so, the whole process feels like a battle, and I am already exhausted by the time I have the books in my hands. I still read romantic novels. There is something comforting about them, even if some of the stories hit a little too close to home. Some of the plots are eerily similar to my own life, while others are pure escapism—beautiful, heartwarming tales from start to finish. Sure, the characters face hardships and tribulations, but what always stands out to me is the love and trust between the couples. It is the kind of love that feels unshakable, the kind I used to dream about. Now, I am not so sure if that kind of love exists for me anymore.

The first novel I read was by Louisa May Alcott; Little Woman, and then moved on to other feminist novels such as Handmaid's Tale and Pride and Prejudice—the book I'm holding right now. Well, I shouldn't be going around the library looking for a novel I like because what I'm supposed to be doing is taking care of a crazy bastard named Rhysand del Millero, who's on the phone. But I don't want to do that. I'd rather buy time with the books in front of me until the helicopter he's waiting for comes over to the bullshit he started. Damn, I hate this situation. I hate being stuck with a domineering, powerful man who loves to be heard more than to hear, and hates that I can't do anything.

“She’ll probably spend the whole holiday in here if you let her.” I walked the aisles slowly, trailing my fingers over the books. Classics. Thrillers. A whole section of contemporary romance—Mirabel’s doing, mostly. She’d started collecting them in high school, said they were “escapist but smart.” I’d never read them. Too many happy endings. Too much hope wrapped in pretty words. I pulled one down at random. Dark cover, brooding man in a suit, and title written in gold foil: Claimed by the Billionaire. I snorted softly, then slid it back.

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."

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"Well, sometimes I watch T.V. I like, well, love to read. So I do that a lot when I'm alone." "Like what? Romance, crime thrillers?" I shrugged. "Sometimes. I really like the classics. Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, George Elliot (who was a woman, by the way). I also like the Russians, like Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. 'War and Peace' is amazing." "You've read 'War and Peace'?" "Yeah, twice. It's excellent." I cocked my head. "How about you, what do you like to read?"

He said whether sinister smile and I feel my cheeks become a tomato red like I’m giving a competition to a rose flower. We didn’t speak as he is enjoying my coffee and he offered sometimes to take a few sips but I denied. After few minutes of comfortable silence he again said. “Why you always read these kind of books and that too romantic novel….GOD, I hate romantic novels they are too clingy to read.” he made a disgusting face by looking at my rated novel. I smile looking at him making different faces and replied.

She raised her brows. “Seriously?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Yes, seriously! Ah yous should check it out too, come I’ll read it out to you, it’s great!” She clapped her hands in excitement. “No thank you, you know I don’t read romance,” He shook his head. “But it’s a unique one,” She protested, “A popular mystery/thriller writer is thrown inside her own novel! How cool is that?” “Hmm?” he raised his brows. “Did it pick your interest?” She wiggled her brows. “Ah, the guy has the same name as you, by the way,” She added.

Well, aren't you his fan? "Do you have something else in mind?" he asks in a normal tone of voice, ignoring my question. How rude! I scowl, but I’m hardly affected. "Um . . . Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen," I tell him. "Or maybe . . . Sense and Sensibility?" I contradict my own choices, and he smiles at it. "Is Jane Austen your favorite?" he asks, a sweet glow in his cool eyes. "If we're speaking of Classic romance, then yes, she's my favorite. I prefer happy ending than tragedies, and Jane Austen always grants my wish." I go dreamy; oblivious of whom I'm talking to.