The Billionaire’s Blind Wife

Chapter 5

Juniper

I knew the exact moment Matias’s conference call ended because the heavy silence of the penthouse returned, save for the hum of the refrigerator and Barney’s rhythmic snoring from the sofa. I sat at my baby grand, my fingers resting lightly on the cool ivory keys. I had sung O mio babbino caro with a little extra projection, specifically aiming the high notes toward his frosted glass office door. A girl had to establish her territory, after all. If he was going to hold corporate court in our shared home, he was going to do it to the soundtrack of my vocal cords."Well, Barney," I whispered, sliding off the piano bench. "I think it’s time we explore the kitchen. I’m starving, and my dear husband has yet to offer me a snack." Barney didn't move. He let out a soft, whistling sigh through his snort covered nose, completely content to remain a permanent fixture of Matias's pristine white sofa. "Useless," I muttered affectionately, tapping my cane ahead of me as I navigated the house’s open concept living room. I had already memorized the layout of the penthouse during my walk through last week, but the kitchen was a whole different level of hostile. It was one of those ultra modern, zero handle, completely seamless monstrosities where everything was hidden behind identical oak panels. There were no physical buttons only stupid flat, sleek touch screens. To a blind person, this wasn’t a kitchen; it was a sensory deprivation chamber designed to starve me to death. I stood in front of what I assumed was the refrigerator, running my fingertips over the cold, smooth wood. "Okay, open sesame. Where is the indent? The handle? The physical manifestation of common sense?" I continued pressing my palms against the wood, pushing. Nothing. I swiped my hand lower, hoping for a sensor. Still nothing. "Are you trying to perform CPR on my cabinetry, or are you just giving it a very enthusiastic hug?" Matias’s voice cut through the quiet kitchen, dripping with a dry, quiet amusement that made my heart do a traitorous little skip. I hadn't heard him walk up. He was like a ninja in Italian leather shoes.

I didn't turn around. Instead, I leaned my forehead against the cabinet panel, sighing dramatically. "Matias, your kitchen is ableist. I am officially declaring war on whoever designed this. There are no knobs. There are no handles. How do I get a glass of water? Do I have to clap twice? Do I have to recite the Stone Industries mission statement?" I heard his footsteps getting closer, stopping just behind me. The scent of him was clean, masculine, with that sharp undertone of rich espresso enveloped me. "It’s pressure activated," Matias explained. He reached around me, his broad chest lightly brushing my back. The sudden proximity made my breath hitch. He pressed a specific spot near the top corner of the panel, and with a soft click, the heavy door swung open, revealing the bright, humming interior of the fridge. "You press here. Not there."

"Well, that’s just too pretentious," I said, spinning around to face him. Since I couldn't see how close he was, I ended up standing mere inches from his hard chest. I tilted my chin up, raising an eyebrow behind my sunglasses. "And what if I don't want to press there? What if I’m having a weak day, husband ? What if my delicate, artistic fingers can't exert the necessary force?"

"Then you’ll starve," he murmured. I could hear the faint, teasing pull in his voice. He hadn't stepped back. If anything, he seemed entirely unbothered by how close we were. "Or, you could ask your husband."

"Oh, please. I’d rather eat the throw pillows," I shot back, though a small smile tugged at my lips. "Besides, you were supposed to be locked in your office looking at spreadsheets. What happened to the Tokyo acquisition?"

"I had to adjourn the meeting," Matias said, his voice dropping a fraction. "The interference was... substantial." I grinned, crossing my arms. "Oh? Was my singing too loud for your precious board members?"

"It was distracting," he corrected. "The regional director asked if I had hired an opera singer to celebrate the merger. I told him it was just a very loud, very demanding house guest."

"I am not a house guest, Stone. I am your wife," I reminded him, stepping forward, intentionally pushing into his space. My cane tapped lightly against his shoe. "You signed the papers. Fifty two percent, remember? You’re stuck with the noise." Matias let out a low, rough sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. He reached out, his fingers gently catching the edge of my sunglasses and sliding them down my nose. His thumb brushing against my cheekbone, warm and incredibly soft. "I remember," he whispered, his breath warm against my forehead. "And for the record, June... you hit the high notes beautifully."My sarcastic retort died in my throat. My heart gave a violent, erratic thud. I stared in his direction, my amber eyes wide, I suddenly felt completely exposed without the barrier of my glasses. He was supposed to be cold. He was supposed to be serious. But right now, his voice was thick, dripping with a heavy, magnetic warmth that made my knees feel entirely too weak for a Tuesday afternoon.