The Last Night in Lisbon
The Lisbon air hung thick with salt and the promise of departure as Alex traced the rim of her wine glass. Below their rented villa’s balcony, the city’s lights flickered like grounded stars, each one a tiny farewell. Tomorrow, Ben would board a plane to Singapore for six months. Six months. The number echoed in her mind, a drumbeat counting down to loneliness.
“Remember our first date?” Ben asked, swirling his own wine. The deep red liquid caught the light, glowing like liquid ruby. “You were so nervous you spilled your water all over the table.”
Alex snorted, the memory a bright splash against the gloom of impending separation. “You mean when I tried to impress you by ordering in terrible Portuguese? The waiter took pity on us.”
“He did,” Ben agreed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And then you spent the whole night talking about that book—what was it? The one with the spaceship and the sentient fungus?”
“*The Mycelium Maze*,” Alex supplied, smiling. She’d lent him her copy a week later, its margins filled with her tiny, neat annotations. He’d read every page, asked thoughtful questions, even suggested a better ending. That was the moment she knew.
Now, watching him watch the city, she wondered how many more moments they’d have before his flight. How many more breaths together before the Atlantic yawned between them.
“It’s strange,” Ben said suddenly, turning to face her. His expression had shifted—still warm, but edged with something else. Nervousness? “How life throws these curveballs. Six months apart, right after finally tying the knot.”
Alex’s stomach clenched. They’d been dancing around this conversation all evening, ever since the last suitcase had been zipped shut and the keys to the villa tucked into Ben’s carry-on. “We’ll make it work,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “Video calls. Emails. Maybe I’ll finally write that novel I keep threatening.”
“About the sentient fungus?”
“Obviously.”
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the clink of Ben’s glass against the iron patio table. Then, without warning, he reached for her hand. His fingers were warm, familiar, but the intensity in his gaze was new.
“Alex,” he began, then stopped. Cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. A… a kind of dare, for our last night.”
Her heart skipped. Ben wasn’t the daring type—not like this, with that strange, vulnerable edge to his voice. “What kind of dare?”
He took a deep breath, his thumb tracing circles on her knuckles. “I’ve always wanted to… explore. With you. Something new. Something… intimate.”
The word hung in the air, charged and unfamiliar. Alex’s mind raced—was he talking about bondage? Roleplay? Some kind of elaborate fantasy scenario? “Intimate how?”
Ben’s cheeks flushed, but he held her gaze. “Anal intimacy. With you… taking the lead.”
The world tilted. Alex felt the wine sour on her tongue, her fingers suddenly cold in his. Anal? Her? The concept felt foreign, dangerous, like a book in a section of the library she’d never dared enter.
“Ben, I—”
“I know it’s a lot,” he rushed on, his words tumbling over each other. “And if you’re not comfortable, that’s completely fine. I just… wanted to put it out there. Before I leave. In case… in case you ever wanted to try.”
Alex stared at him—at the husband she thought she knew, who’d apparently been harboring this secret desire all along. Questions flooded her mind: Was this really what he wanted? Was it even safe? What if she hated it? What if she loved it? What if she failed utterly, disappointing them both?
“You’re serious,” she breathed.
“So serious,” Ben whispered. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “But only if you are. Only if you want this too.”
The balcony seemed to shrink around them, the city lights suddenly too bright, the night air too thin. Alex pulled her hand back, reaching for her wine glass like a lifeline. Her mind was a tangled knot of fear and curiosity, of a thousand what-ifs all clamoring for attention.
She took a shaky sip, the alcohol burning a path down her throat. When she set the glass down, her hand was steadier. “I need to think,” she said quietly. “I need… a minute.”
Ben nodded, his expression a mix of hope and understanding. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be inside.”
He rose, pressing another kiss to the top of her head before disappearing into the villa. Alex stayed on the balcony, the weight of his words settling over her like a second skin. Below, the city pulsed with life—a reminder that the world would keep turning, no matter what she decided.
But tonight, in this villa, with her husband of three months and five days, the world felt very small indeed. And the ticking clock of dawn suddenly felt like both a threat and a promise.
The Lisbon air hung thick with salt and the promise of departure as Alex traced the rim of her wine glass. Below their rented villa’s balcony, the city’s lights flickered like grounded stars, each one a tiny farewell. Tomorrow, Ben would board a plane to Singapore for six months. Six months. The number echoed in her mind, a drumbeat counting down to loneliness.
“Remember our first date?” Ben asked, swirling his own wine. The deep red liquid caught the light, glowing like liquid ruby. “You were so nervous you spilled your water all over the table.”
Alex snorted, the memory a bright splash against the gloom of impending separation. “You mean when I tried to impress you by ordering in terrible Portuguese? The waiter took pity on us.”
“He did,” Ben agreed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And then you spent the whole night talking about that book—what was it? The one with the spaceship and the sentient fungus?”
“*The Mycelium Maze*,” Alex supplied, smiling. She’d lent him her copy a week later, its margins filled with her tiny, neat annotations. He’d read every page, asked thoughtful questions, even suggested a better ending. That was the moment she knew.
Now, watching him watch the city, she wondered how many more moments they’d have before his flight. How many more breaths together before the Atlantic yawned between them.
“It’s strange,” Ben said suddenly, turning to face her. His expression had shifted—still warm, but edged with something else. Nervousness? “How life throws these curveballs. Six months apart, right after finally tying the knot.”
Alex’s stomach clenched. They’d been dancing around this conversation all evening, ever since the last suitcase had been zipped shut and the keys to the villa tucked into Ben’s carry-on. “We’ll make it work,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “Video calls. Emails. Maybe I’ll finally write that novel I keep threatening.”
“About the sentient fungus?”
“Obviously.”
A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the clink of Ben’s glass against the iron patio table. Then, without warning, he reached for her hand. His fingers were warm, familiar, but the intensity in his gaze was new.
“Alex,” he began, then stopped. Cleared his throat. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. A… a kind of dare, for our last night.”
Her heart skipped. Ben wasn’t the daring type—not like this, with that strange, vulnerable edge to his voice. “What kind of dare?”
He took a deep breath, his thumb tracing circles on her knuckles. “I’ve always wanted to… explore. With you. Something new. Something… intimate.”
The word hung in the air, charged and unfamiliar. Alex’s mind raced—was he talking about bondage? Roleplay? Some kind of elaborate fantasy scenario? “Intimate how?”
Ben’s cheeks flushed, but he held her gaze. “Anal intimacy. With you… taking the lead.”
The world tilted. Alex felt the wine sour on her tongue, her fingers suddenly cold in his. Anal? Her? The concept felt foreign, dangerous, like a book in a section of the library she’d never dared enter.
“Ben, I—”
“I know it’s a lot,” he rushed on, his words tumbling over each other. “And if you’re not comfortable, that’s completely fine. I just… wanted to put it out there. Before I leave. In case… in case you ever wanted to try.”
Alex stared at him—at the husband she thought she knew, who’d apparently been harboring this secret desire all along. Questions flooded her mind: Was this really what he wanted? Was it even safe? What if she hated it? What if she loved it? What if she failed utterly, disappointing them both?
“You’re serious,” she breathed.
“So serious,” Ben whispered. He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “But only if you are. Only if you want this too.”
The balcony seemed to shrink around them, the city lights suddenly too bright, the night air too thin. Alex pulled her hand back, reaching for her wine glass like a lifeline. Her mind was a tangled knot of fear and curiosity, of a thousand what-ifs all clamoring for attention.