Page 5 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Zahra’s eyes twinkled with dubious humor.
Olivia gestured toward them. “See. You don’t want your feminist professor to have the same reaction.”
Olivia and I were both literature majors, but she preferred chaste Regency novels by authors like Jane Austen, where the subject of sex was all but glossed over. I, on the other hand, wanted to know what Mr. Darcy was packing in his trousers. My literary entertainment required spice. My real life sadly lacked it.
I laughed. “Look, I’ve read hundreds of romance novels.” I had the proof stacked on my dorm dresser. “And I have yet to encounter a heroine I wouldn’t like if I met her in real life. They’ve all been strong women, struggling for independence in a male-dominated world. They’ve all been kindhearted and intelligent. They’ve all had principles and ambitions and wit—”
“Yeah,” Olivia agreed. “They have no physical or personality flaws. Like real women do. What message does that send? That you must be perfect to be worthy of love and romance?”
“No!” I gasped. “They’re flawed.”
Olivia scoffed.
“Maybe not physically flawed,” I admitted. “But definitely flawed in character. In the last book I read, the heroine was unbelievably selfish before she fell in love with an indentured servant.”
Grace giggled. “Let me guess—the man turned out to be secretly wealthy, and everyone realized how worthy he was of her in the end.”
I pursed my lips. “Well—”
“The men are always stinking rich,” Grace added.
“And they’re always tall, handsome, and jacked as hell,” Zahra remarked.
“If you were a heroine in a novel, would you be attracted to an uggo with warts?” I asked her. “Keep in mind, I’ve never seen you bring anything but studs back to our room.”
Zahra considered the prospect. “He’d have to have a killer personality.”
I grinned. “Uh-huh.”
“He doesn’t have to have warts.” Olivia’s blue eyes rolled. “But he doesn’t have to be a prime male specimen either. With a prime male—you know.”
We all laughed.
“Whatever.” I lifted a stubborn chin. “I stand by my thesis. Romance novels empower women to be who they are, to go out and forge their own fates. They celebrate female sexuality, instead of insisting we repress our carnal natures. Tell me, what’s not feminist about that?”
Grace nearly choked on a piece of fish.
Zahra snickered into her tea.
Olivia’s thick chestnut brow arched. “I’m sure your professor will explain it to you.”
I waved her off. “Anyway—” I grabbed a steak fry, slathered it in ketchup, and took a honking bite. “Who wants to go shopping tomorrow?”
“Why?” Zahra winked. “Looking for ways to express your carnal nature?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, I can’t,” Grace replied. “I’m only halfway throughmypaper.”
I didn’t confess I hadn’t even started mine.
“I’m out, too,” Zahra said. “My bank account’s running low after my car payment, and my dad’s refusing to give me a cash infusion until next week.”
I turned to Olivia. “And you? What’s your excuse?”
She shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll go. I need some new shorts.”
“Great.” I smiled. “And I promise to limit talk of paperbacks and their dripping honeypots while we’re out—unless you make fun of my thesis again.”
