MARRIED TO MY EX FATHER IN LAW

FALLEN

I'm looking for Hannah.

That's my only excuse for being on the third floor, which is mostly Ocean's private space. His bedroom. His study. Areas I usually avoid.

But Hannah mentioned something about needing to grab laundry from up here, and I offered to help, and now I'm walking down the hallway like an i***t trying to remember which room she said.

The door at the end of the hall is slightly open.

That must be it. The laundry room or storage or whatever.

I push the door wider. "Hannah, I can't remember which..."

The words die in my throat.

It's not a laundry room.

It's Ocean's bedroom.

And Ocean is standing in the middle of it, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.

Water droplets slide down his chest. His hair is wet, pushed back from his face. Steam drifts from the open bathroom door behind him.

He just got out of the shower.

And I just walked in on him.

Oh god.

"Lola." His voice is startled but not angry. "I didn't know you were up here."

"I'm so sorry, I was looking for Hannah, I thought this was the laundry room, I didn't mean to..." I'm backing toward the door but I can't stop staring.

Because Ocean's body is...

He's not just fit. He's built. Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Abs that suggest serious dedication to working out. Arms that could probably lift me without effort.

And scars. So many scars.

A long one across his ribs. A jagged one on his shoulder. Smaller ones scattered across his torso like a map of violence survived.

Evidence of the life he's lived. The battles he's fought. The empire he's built with blood.

"It's fine," Ocean is saying. He grabs a shirt from the bed. "Just give me a second..."

But I'm not listening anymore. Can't listen. Because my brain has completely short-circuited.

All I can think is: he's beautiful.

Not pretty. Not soft. But powerful. Dangerous. Real.

And I want...

No. No, I don't. I can't want. This is Ocean. My husband who isn't my husband. The man who saved me. The Capo.

I shouldn't be thinking about how his muscles move under his skin. How those arms would feel around me. How his chest would feel under my hands.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out again. "I'm leaving. I'm so sorry."

I turn and practically run from the room.

Down the hallway. Down the stairs. Not stopping until I'm in my own room with the door closed and locked behind me.

I lean against the door, breathing hard, my face burning.

What is wrong with me?

I just walked in on Ocean half-naked and instead of being uncomfortable or scared or any normal reaction, I'm...

Turned on.

I'm attracted to him.

The realization hits like a physical blow.

No. No, this can't be happening.

I pace my room, trying to calm down. Trying to unsee what I just saw.

But the image is burned into my brain. His body. Those scars. The water droplets sliding down his chest. The way the towel hung low on his hips, showing the V of muscles disappearing underneath.

"Stop it," I mutter to myself. "Stop thinking about it."

But I can't.

Because it's not just his body. It's everything.

The way he defended me in the kitchen yesterday. The way he listens when I talk. The way he looks at me like I matter. Like I'm worth something.

The way he makes me feel safe and protected and seen.

I'm attracted to him. Emotionally and now, apparently, physically.

And that's horrifying.

Because Ocean is twenty-six years older than me. He's my ex-father-in-law. He's a criminal. He's killed people. He's the Capo of a mafia family.

And more importantly, he married me out of pity. Out of duty. To save my life.

Not because he wanted me.

This attraction I'm feeling is probably just gratitude. Confusion. My brain mixing up safety with desire because I've never felt safe before.

That's what this is. It has to be.

Except it doesn't feel like gratitude.

It feels like want. Pure and simple.

I want Ocean Moretti.

Want him to look at me like I'm not just someone to protect. Want him to touch me. Want him to...

"Stop," I say out loud. Firmly. "This is not happening. You're confused. You're traumatized. You're mistaking kindness for attraction."

There's a knock on my door.

I freeze.

"Lola?" Ocean's voice. Gentle. Concerned. "Are you okay?"

No. No, I'm not okay. I'm having a complete breakdown because I just realized I'm attracted to you and I don't know what to do about it.

"I'm fine," I call out. My voice sounds strangled. "Just embarrassed. I'm so sorry for walking in..."

"It's my fault. I should have locked the door."

"No, I should have knocked. I'm so sorry."

Silence for a moment.

"Can I come in?" Ocean asks. "Just for a second?"

This is a terrible idea. But I can't say no.

I unlock the door. Open it.

Ocean is dressed now. Jeans and a t-shirt. Hair still damp. Looking concerned.

Not at all like he knows I was just fantasizing about him.

Thank god.

"I wanted to make sure you're okay," he says. "You looked upset when you left."

"I was just embarrassed. I violated your privacy—"

"You made a mistake. It happens." He leans against the doorframe. Not coming in. Respecting boundaries. "I'm not angry. You don't need to apologize again."

"Okay."

We stand there awkwardly. The air feels charged. Like something unspoken is hovering between us.

"The scars," I hear myself say. "There are so many."

Ocean glances down at himself. "Comes with the job. Thirty years in this life leaves marks."

"Do they hurt?"

"Not anymore. They're old. Just reminders of mistakes I survived."

I want to ask about each one. Want to know the stories. Want to trace them with my fingers and—

Stop it.

"I should let you rest," Ocean says. "I just wanted to check on you."

"Thank you. For checking."

He nods. Starts to turn away. Stops.

"Lola? What you saw... I know it's a lot. The scars. The evidence of what I am. What I've done. If it scared you..."

"It didn't scare me."

The words come out too fast. Too honest.

Ocean looks at me. Really looks. And something shifts in his expression. Like he's seeing something he didn't expect.

"Good," he says quietly. "That's... good."

He leaves. I close the door. Lean against it again.

That's good?

What does that mean?

Does he want me to not be scared? Does he care what I think about his scars?

I'm reading too much into this. I have to be.

But the way he looked at me just now...

"No," I tell myself firmly. "You're imagining things. He sees you as a responsibility. That's all."

I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to convince myself. Trying to ignore the fact that I can't stop thinking about Ocean's body. About his scars. About how it would feel to touch him.

By dinner, I've almost convinced myself that this is just a phase. Gratitude mixed with proximity. Nothing real.

Until I walk into the dining room and Ocean looks up at me.

And the way his eyes move over my face, the way his expression softens, the way he pulls out my chair...

It doesn't feel like duty.

It feels like something else entirely.

And I realize with a sinking feeling that this isn't going away.

These feelings I'm developing for Ocean?

They're real.

And I have no idea what to do about them.

Because he's my protector. My savior. The man who gave me a second chance at life.

Falling for him would complicate everything.

Would probably ruin everything.

So I need to stop. Need to push these feelings down. Need to remember that this marriage is a business arrangement and nothing more.

But as Ocean smiles at me across the dinner table, as we fall into easy conversation, as he makes me laugh...

I know it's already too late.

I've already fallen.

And there's no going back.