Chapter 55 Last Day In Lisbon
But there was no sign of Damien behind me.
"Elena?" Jack brought my face to look at him. "Are you okay?"
I blinked severally at him. Wait, now I'm hearing things?
My nails dug into my palms as I gave Jack a small but uncertain nod. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine."
Then I leaned into his side, resting my head against his shoulder for one brief, rare moment.
I pushed back the strange feeling at the back of my mind.
Hours passed and Lisbon woke slowly outside our hotel windows. I stood barefoot by the glass, my coffee cup warm between my hands, watching the city stretch itself awake—red rooftops, narrow streets, the distant rumble of a tram climbing a hill like it had done a thousand times before.
The Tagus River glinted in the distance like it had never known war and I envied it.
Behind me, Jack emerged from the bathroom a moment later, towel slung over his shoulder, hair damp, his face still carrying the looseness of sleep. He looked… lighter.
“Beautiful morning,” he murmured, coming to stand beside me.
“Mm,” I nodded, sipping my coffee. “Lisbon’s showing off.”
He leaned his hand against the window frame, his shoulder almost brushing mine.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke and the silence didn’t really feel awkward.
Then Jack tilted his head slightly, like he was hiding something behind his eyes.
“How about we give in to the city?” he asked.
I glanced at him. “Give in?”
“Yeah, like just see the city before we touch down New York.” His mouth twitched faintly.
I blinked, caught off guard.
“You mean,” I said slowly, “go full tourist?”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah I mean, let’s get lost in it.”
There was something in his voice that made my chest tighten. Was it desperation or longing? I couldn't quite place it yet.
“We’ve fought so hard for everything lately,” he continued. “I think we deserve to be people for a change.”
My gaze lingered on him and it felt like he wanted to say something else but couldn't.
Then I stared out at the city again, at the sunlit streets that didn’t know my name, didn’t care about my father’s empire or Damien’s games or the way power could rot the inside of a family.
Lisbon looked like freedom.
“All right,” I said finally, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “Let’s do it, let’s lose ourselves to what this city has to offer.”
Jack’s expression shifted. “Good,” he said simply. “Because I’m really tired of those ridiculous spreadsheets.”
That made me laugh, and the sound of it surprised me.
And so, over the next few days… we did. We lost ourselves in the freedom of the city.
I ignored my phone when it buzzed—once, twice, even five times.
Layla’s name flashed across the screen more than once, and guilt prickled at the edges of my calm, but I pushed it away.
Not now Layla, just a little longer.
I wanted this pocket of peace, I wanted to pretend the world wasn’t waiting with its teeth bared. So I slid my phone into my bag and let Lisbon have me.
We started in Alfama.
The oldest quarter of the city, full of narrow streets that twisted like secrets. It didn’t feel designed. It felt like the city had simply… happened, layer by layer, century by century.
The buildings pressed close together, pastel walls chipped with age and laundries hung from balconies like flags of ordinary daily life.
I trailed my fingers along the blue ceramic tiles painted with saints and ships and stories I didn’t know how to read and all the while, Jack watched me like he was trying to piece himself together.
“This place is a maze,” I muttered as we turned down yet another alley that looked exactly like the last.
Jack smirked. “You’re telling me Elena Vale doesn’t always know where she’s going?”
I shot him a look. “Elena Vale usually has an assistant, a driver, and a color-coded schedule.”
“And yet,” he said, gesturing around, “here you are. Wandering.”
I exhaled, feeling something loosen in me.
“Here I am,” I admitted.
We ducked into small cafés where neither of us could pronounce half the menu, even the waiters smiled patiently at our awkward attempts.
Jack insisted on trying bacalhau à brás—some salt cod dish that sounded suspicious to me.
I eyed his plate like it might attack. “This looks like something my grandmother would use as punishment,” I said.
Jack’s grin widened. “Trust me.”
“I don’t trust you,” I said automatically.
He leaned closer. “You married me.”
“That was contractual.” I countered.
He arched an eyebrow. “Still counts.”
I hesitated before I took a bite and It was…surprisingly good. My eyes widened despite myself.
Jack’s expression turned unbearably smug.
“Oh, don’t,” I groaned.
He laughed. “Say it.”
“I will not.”
“Elena.”
“I hate you.” I croaked out.
He leaned back, satisfied. “You love it.”
I rolled my eyes, but my lips betrayed me with a smile. It's been like forever I've had so much fun.
I'd miss this.
We shared pastel-de-nata from a street cart, powdered sugar dusting our fingers.
At one point, Jack squinted at me. “You’ve got war paint.”
“What?” I muttered.
Then he reached out, his thumb brushed gently across the tip of my nose.
Oh... Sugar.
His touch was casual and yet my entire body reacted like it was something. Heat lingered where his skin had been.
I cleared my throat too quickly. “Better?”
He nodded, eyes still on mine. “Better.”
The air between us felt strangely tensed.
Then another day took us to Belém.
We rode the tram, its yellow body rattling along tracks, passing cathedrals and monuments to sailors who had chased horizons.
At Jerónimos Monastery, I stopped cold.
The arches rose like something sacred, carved with impossible detail.
It made me feel small in the best way.
“It’s strange,” I said quietly as I stared up. “How places can feel like they’ve been waiting for you.”
Jack didn’t answer immediately. Then his hand brushed mine.
“I think,” he said finally, “some places remind you that the world is bigger than whatever is trying to consume you.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Yeah.”
We kissed long and hard and rented bikes by the river.
I felt like a kid again.
The breeze caught in my hair, laughter spilling out of me as Jack pedaled ahead, turning back with mock arrogance.
“Try to keep up, Vale!”
“Oh, you’re insufferable,” I called out, speeding up.
He laughed. “Competitive, too.”
“I’m not competitive!”
Jack’s grin flashed. “You’re literally chasing me.”
“I’m proving a point!”
“What point?”
“That I can destroy you!”
His laughter echoed across the river, and for a moment, I didn’t feel like a woman under siege.
We returned to the hotel with sore feet and sunburnt cheeks, collapsing onto the bed still half dressed.
I tried so make a sentence in Portuguese mid laughter.
Jack threw a pillow at me mid-sentence.
“Stop,” he said in amusement.
“You’re just jealous my Portuguese is flawless.” I mumbled.
“It’s offensive,” he said.
“It’s art.”
“It’s violence.”
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
Then came the night of the 'fado tavern.'
We found it by accident, tucked between two alleys like a secret. Inside, the air was thick with music and longing.
The singer’s voice curled through the room filled with devotion and heartbreak. I didn’t understand the words but I understood the feeling because It sank into my bones.
Jack sat beside me, his arm rested along the back of my chair with unreadable expression.
When the song ended, Jack and I walked home beneath streetlamps.
“I think I’m falling in love with this city.” I mumbled.
Jack’s gaze stayed forward for a moment.
Then he said quietly, “I think I’m falling in love with something, too.”
I bit my lip before I turned to him, searching his face. “What?” I asked softly.
He didn’t answer.
The following morning arrived too soon.
My suitcase sat zipped beside the dresser, like proof that reality was creeping back in.
I stood by the window again, breathing in Lisbon like I could store it inside of me.
Behind me, Jack moved with efficiency, buttoning his shirt, slipping his watch onto his wrist. He was steady but I caught the way his eyes flicked toward my reflection and the way his shoulders slackened, just slightly.
“I packed the files,” he said gently. “Everything we might need in case something blows up the minute we land.”
I gave a small nod. “Which it probably will.”
He sighed. "Elena... There's something I need to tell you."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Okay, but you can tell me when we get back home."
I ignored the worried look on his face.
As we loaded into the black car outside, I ran my fingers over the leather seat, already missing cobblestones and laughter and anonymity. I felt sad.
Jack held the door open for me and when I slid in, he followed with a sigh.
The drive to the airport was mostly silent.
I leaned my head against the window, watching Lisbon disappear behind us.
Jack’s hand brushed mine atop the seat.
“You okay?” he asked.
I turned toward him, my expression soft.
“Yeah. I just…” My voice caught. “Wish we had a little more time here.”
He didn’t press, he just squeezed my fingers.
At the airport, chaos buzzed around us—announcements overhead, strangers rushing, suitcases rolling like distant thunder.
I felt like I was being eased back into the world whether I wanted it or not. As we waited at the gate, Jack scanned updates on his tablet.
I pulled out the tourist map I’d kept, tracing our footsteps with my finger.
Alfama, Belém and the hidden fado tavern.
“Think we’ll ever come back to Lisbon?” I asked suddenly.
Jack looked up, his gaze steady.
“When this is all over,” he said. “I’ll bring you back here.” He smiled.
The way he said it made hope stir in my chest.
Hope was something that hurt no matter how long you hold onto it.
Almost immediately, my phone buzzed with a text from Layla. Then I read it:
"I found something about Jack, and you were right about your suspicions. Jack Roman is not exactly what he portrays himself to be."
I clutched my phone as I felt a weight settle in my chest.
I looked up at Jack with an unsteady breathing before our flight was called.
As we boarded, I looked over my shoulder one last time, soaking in the last glimpse of Portugal.
"I guess we'll never return to Lisbon." I mumbled to myself.