MARRIED TO MY EX FATHER IN LAW

CROSS THAT LINE

I can't sleep again.

It's become a pattern. Lie in bed. Stare at the ceiling. Think about Ocean. Give up and wander downstairs.

Tonight is no different. Except when I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see light coming from under Ocean's study door.

He's still awake too.

I should go to the kitchen. Make tea. Leave him alone. He's probably working on something important.

But my feet carry me to his door instead.

I knock softly. "Ocean? Are you busy?"

Silence. Then footsteps. The door opens.

He's in sweatpants and a t-shirt, hair messy, glasses on. I didn't know he wore glasses. They make him look softer. More approachable.

"Lola. Is everything okay?"

"I couldn't sleep. Saw your light on. I can go if you're working..."

"No." He steps back. "Come in. Please. I could use the distraction."

His study is warm. Cozy. Bookshelves covering every wall. A massive desk covered in papers. A leather couch by the fireplace.

"What are you working on?" I ask.

"Financial reports. Tedious stuff." He closes a folder on his desk. "But nothing that can't wait. Want a drink? I have whiskey, wine, tea..."

"Tea sounds good."

He has an electric kettle in the corner. Of course he does. He practically lives in this room.

While he makes tea, I drift to the bookshelves. Run my fingers along the spines.

"You have so many books."

"I like reading. Always have." He hands me a mug. "It helps me think. Or not think, depending on what I need."

"What kind of books?"

"Everything. History. Philosophy. Fiction. Biographies. I'm not picky."

I pull out a worn paperback. Look at the cover. "The Count of Monte Cristo?"

"One of my favorites. Read it at least five times."

"Really? The mafia boss likes classic literature?"

He smiles. "The mafia boss is full of surprises."

We settle on the couch. Not too close. But not distant either. The fire crackles softly.

"So why couldn't you sleep?" Ocean asks.

"My brain won't shut off. Too many thoughts."

"Want to talk about them?"

"Not really. They're boring thoughts. Anxious thoughts." I sip my tea. "What about you? Why are you up?"

"Same reason. Too much in my head."

"Business stuff?"

"Some of that. Other things too." He looks at me over his glasses. "You, actually."

My heart skips. "Me?"

"Making sure you're settling in okay. That you have everything you need. That you're..." He trails off. "That you're happy."

"I am happy. Happier than I've been in years."

"Good. That's... that's really good."

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment. The fire pops. The tea is warm in my hands.

"Can I ask you something?" I say.

"Anything."

"Why do you wear glasses? I've never seen you in them before."

He touches the frames self-consciously. "I only need them for reading. And I usually wear contacts during the day. Glasses make me look..."

"Distinguished? Smart? Incredibly attractive?"

The words slip out before I can stop them.

Ocean stares at me. "Attractive?"

Oh god. Did I just say that out loud?

"I mean... objectively. From an outside perspective. The glasses are a good look. Very... professional." I'm rambling. Making it worse. "Forget I said anything."

But Ocean is smiling. Really smiling. "You think I'm attractive."

"I think lots of people are attractive. It's a very common thing to think. About people. In general."

"Lola."

"What?"

"You're terrible at deflecting."

"I know. It's a problem." I bury my face in my tea mug. "Can we talk about something else? Anything else?"

"What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. Tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows."

Ocean leans back. Considers. "I wanted to be a teacher."

"What?"

"When I was young. Before all this." He gestures vaguely. "I wanted to teach history. Work with high school kids. Make a difference."

"What happened?"

"Life. My father died. I had to take over the family business. The rest is history."

"Do you ever regret it? The path you chose?"

"Sometimes. But regret doesn't change anything. You make choices. You live with them." He looks at me. "What about you? Any secret dreams?"

"I told you. Teaching. Elementary school."

"No, I mean now. If you could do anything. Be anyone. What would you choose?"

I think about it. Really think.

"I'd want to help kids like me. Foster kids. The ones who feel unwanted. I'd want to create a program or a foundation or something that makes them feel like they matter."

"That's beautiful."

"It's impossible. I don't have money or resources or..."

"It's not impossible." Ocean's voice is firm. "You're married to me. I have money and resources. If you want to start a foundation, we'll start a foundation."

"You'd do that?"

"Why wouldn't I? It's a good cause. And it clearly matters to you."

I stare at him. This powerful man who just casually offered to fund my dream like it's nothing.

"You're really something, you know that?"

"Something good or something bad?"

"Something unexpected."

He laughs. The sound is warm. Rich. Makes something flutter in my chest.

"Your turn," I say. "Tell me another secret."

"I collect vinyl records. Old jazz mostly. Miles Davis. Coltrane. Billie Holiday."

"You're kidding."

"I have a turntable in my bedroom. Play them when I can't sleep."

"I want to hear them."

The words come out before I realize what I'm saying. What I'm asking.

Ocean's expression shifts. "Now?"

"If you don't mind. I've never really listened to jazz before."

"It's three in the morning."

"Perfect time for jazz, right?"

He studies me. Like he's trying to figure out if this is a good idea.

Then he stands. "Come on."

I follow him upstairs. To his bedroom. The room I walked in on him in earlier.

My heart is pounding but not from fear. From anticipation. From the intimacy of being invited into his private space.

The record player is in the corner. Vintage. Beautiful. He flips through albums, selects one.

"Coltrane. A Love Supreme. One of the greatest jazz albums ever made."

He puts it on. The music fills the room. Soft. Soulful. Beautiful.

"Sit," he says, gesturing to the couch by his window.

We sit. Listen. The music washes over us.

"This is incredible," I whisper.

"Right? Coltrane recorded this in 1964. It's a spiritual journey. Four parts. All about devotion and transcendence."

I close my eyes. Let the music carry me.

When I open them, Ocean is watching me.

"What?" I ask.

"You're beautiful when you listen to music. Your whole face changes."

My breath catches. "Ocean..."

"Sorry. That was... I shouldn't have said that."

"Why not?"

"Because." He looks away. "Because it's inappropriate. You're my... we're..."

"We're what?"

"Complicated."

"Yeah. We are."

The music plays. We sit in the darkness. Neither of us moving.

"Tell me something else," I say. "Something true."

"What do you want to know?"

"Why haven't you been with anyone? In all the time I've been here, you never... you don't date or see anyone or..."

"Because I don't want to." He pauses. "And because there's someone I can't stop thinking about."

My heart stops. "Who?"

He looks at me then. Really looks. And I see everything in his eyes.

Want. Restraint. Conflict.

"You know who," he says quietly.

"Ocean..."

"But it doesn't matter. Because it's impossible. For so many reasons."

"What if it's not impossible?"

"It is. Trust me."

We stare at each other. The music swells around us. Something building between us. Something that feels inevitable.

"I should go," I whisper. "Let you sleep."

"You should."

But neither of us moves.

"Lola." His voice is rough. "If you don't leave now, I'm going to do something I'll regret."

"What if I don't want to leave?"

"Don't say that. Don't make this harder than it already is."

"Why is it hard?"

"Because I want you." The admission tears out of him. "I want you so f*****g much it's killing me. But I can't have you. You're too young. Too vulnerable. Too..."

"Too what? Too damaged for you to want?"

"No. Too precious for me to ruin."

The words hang in the air between us.

I stand. He stands. We're facing each other in the darkness. The music playing. The space between us charged with everything unsaid.

"You wouldn't ruin me," I say.

"I would. Eventually. That's what I do."

"I don't believe that."

"Then you don't know me well enough."

"So let me know you better."

"Lola." My name sounds like a prayer and a curse. "You're killing me."

"Good. Because you're killing me too."

We're so close now. Close enough that I can feel the heat of his body. See the war happening behind his eyes.

"I should go," I whisper.

"You should."

But I don't. And he doesn't make me.

We just stand there. Wanting. Denying. Drowning in the impossibility of everything we feel.

Finally, I force myself to step back. To move toward the door.

"Goodnight, Ocean."

"Goodnight."

I leave. Walk down the hallway to my room. Close the door.

Lean against it. Breathe.

We almost kissed. We almost crossed that line.

And part of me wishes we had.