A love story is rarely just about desire. Often, it is also about power—who holds it, who is denied it, and what it takes for two people to meet as equals. Some romances bring that struggle to the surface, making politics part of the story rather than background noise. Perhaps, in this time of siloed and adamant perspectives, there’s a case to be made that picking up a novel about characters we assume we’ll dislike—because of their beliefs, their status, or their politics—might open us to empathy. And maybe, just maybe, that practice on the page makes it easier to connect, even a little, with those we find unlikable off the page.

One could argue Evie Dunmore has built an entire series on that premise. In Bringing Down the Duke, Annabelle is a suffragette, Sebastian a duke invested in keeping things just as they are. Their romance works not because the politics disappear but because each learns to see the other without caricature. Alyssa Cole’s An Extraordinary Union goes further: Elle, a free Black woman spying for the Union, falls for Malcolm, a white agent masquerading among Confederates. The tension between them is inseparable from the politics of the war, and makes the reader live her leads’ differences.

Other novels do this around issues that resonate today. In Sarah MacLean’s Knockout, Imogen’s radical reforms—and her willingness to blow sh*t up to pursue them—bring her up against Detective Peck, who believes in law and order. Neither is wrong, neither is wholly right, and the romance thrives in the uneasy space between their truths. In Abby Jimenez’s Part of Your World, the divide is clear: Alexis is an urban doctor from a legacy family, Daniel, a carpenter rooted in his rural town. Their conflict is the shorthand of our own red-and-blue America, softened only when each sees the other as more than a stereotype. And in the classic Kleypas Smooth Talking Stranger, we have Ella, a liberal, vegan, intellectual heroine falling for Jack Travis, a wealthy conservative businessman. Their sparring over guns, parenting, and privilege makes their very different values almost impossible to ignore.

These novels don’t suggest that politics vanish once love takes hold. What they show, instead, is that political (and social, racial, and economic) differences don’t inherently cancel intimacy. In these love stories, two people can disagree deeply and still find their HEA.

So here’s the ask: do you turn to romances where politics sharpen the conflict, or do you prefer the reassurance of love stories that affirm the values you already hold? And if you enjoy the first kind, which political opposites-attract romances have stayed with you?