The Billionaire’s Blind Wife

Chapter 13

Matias

The heavy and reinforced oak front door finally clicked shut with a solid, echoing thunk.The silence of the penthouse returned instantly, sweet and thick, punctuated by only the steady, rhythmic patter of rain lashing against the massive glass walls of the living room. It was as if the departure of our fathers had suddenly restored the atmospheric pressure of our apartment.I turned to Juniper. For about three seconds, she stood entirely still, her head tilted slightly toward the door as if to be absolutely sure the elevator was actually descending.Then, she let out a loud, victorious cheer, throwing her arms in the air.

"We did it!" she laughed, spinning around in her lavender dress, her combat boots clicking sharply against the dark hardwood floor. "We survived the double father’s assault! Not a single piece of sourdough was weaponized, Matias. I deserve a f*****g medal."

"It was a very close call," I chuckled, stepping into her path and catching her by the waist just as she completed another triumphant spin.She landed flush against my chest. The soft, premium wool of my trousers brushed against the delicate lavender knit of her dress. The contrast was perfect just like the feeling of her small, warm body settling against my own. I looked down at her, the soft, low burning amber candles we had placed on the dining table casting warm, flickering shadows across the elegant contours of her beautiful face."You were spectacular wife," I murmured, my hands resting flat against the small of her back. "Though I think you officially took five years off my father's life when you started describing the pompous king getting eaten by his own hounds." "Oh, please. It was a cultural intervention," she beamed, her hands finding my collar, her fingers lightly brushing the crisp fabric of my button down shirt. "He has spent his entire life surrounded by people who nod and smile at his dry, corporate monologues. I did him a favor. I brought good theater to his pasta." "He looked like he was trying to figure out if he could get you sued for emotional distress under our marriage contract," I said, a genuine laugh escaping my throat. It was a sound that used to feel rare, almost foreign to me, but lately, it was becoming the default soundtrack of my evenings."Let him try," she gasped, her amber eyes wide with that beautiful, sparky mischief. "I’ll countersue him for sensory deprivation and attempting to end my life through boredom. Have you seen his wardrobe? It's just a tragic sea of navy blue. It’s pretty depressing." She leaned her head against my shoulder, letting her weight fully settle against me. I closed my arms around her, my chin resting in the fragrant waves of her dark hair. She smelled like the wild jasmine we’d put on the table, mixed with her signature warm vanilla and a faint, sweet hint of the Barolo we had all been drinking.

We stood like that for a long, quiet minute. The rain continued to paint long, shimmering streaks of light down the glass windows, reflecting the distant, blurry glow of the Manhattan skyline.

"Matias?" she whispered into my chest, her fingers lightly tracing the line of my collarbone through my shirt. "Yes, June?"

"Are we actually doing this?"

The question was quiet, stripped of all the theatrical bravado and sarcastic armor she usually wore like a shield. She sounded incredibly small, her voice carrying a rare and raw vulnerability that made my chest tighten with a fierce, protective ache.

"Doing what?" I asked softly, my hand sliding up her back to cup the back of her head, my fingers threading through her soft hair. "This," she said, her chest rising and falling against mine in a shallow, rapid breath. "The arranged marriage. The fake romance. The... whatever this is. It doesn't feel very fake anymore, Matias. And frankly, it’s terrifying."

I went quiet, looking down at the top of her head.

She was right. The boardrooms, the shipping lanes, the fifty two percent controlling interest they had all been the foundation of this house. But they weren't what was holding up the roof anymore. "There is nothing fake about this, wife," I whispered, my voice thick with a sudden, unyielding certainty.I gently nudged her chin up with my thumb, forcing her to tilt her face toward mine. Her eyes were unfocused, but they were searching, wide and bright with a quiet, breathless anticipation."I don't care about the press release," I said, my gaze dropping to her soft, slightly parted lips. "And I don't care about the Pacific shipping corridors. If we lost the merger tomorrow, I wouldn't let you leave this apartment."

She let out a soft, shaky breath. "Is that a threat, husband?"

"It’s a promise, wife," I murmured.

And then, I leaned down and closed the tiny distance between us.The kiss was slow, deep, and incredibly tender. It wasn't the desperate, burning heat of the rainstorm on our first night, or the sharp, banter filled exchanges of our mornings. It was quiet, Intimate. A slow, luxurious exploration of the space we had built together. She melted against me, her hands sliding up my chest to tangle in the hair at the nape of my neck, pulling me down, deeper, until the rest of the world faded into absolute silence.

When I finally pulled back, her forehead rested against mine, her breathing shallow and warm against my lips. "Good," she whispered, a soft, breathless laugh escaping her as she patted my chest. "Because I’ve already picked out a very ugly, very bright yellow rug for the foyer, and it would be a real shame if I had to return it." I laughed, the sound rich and full, echoing in the quiet penthouse. I reached down, sliding my arms under her knees and back, and lifted her effortlessly into my arms. "Bring on the yellow rug, wife," I murmured, carrying her toward the stairs while she giggled and wrapped her arms tightly around my neck. "I’ll even help you lay it down."