The Billionaire’s Blind Wife

Chapter 20

Matias

The problem with having friends who possess keys to your private elevator is that they occasionally intrude upon your personal space forgetting that a married man’s penthouse is no longer a bachelor pad. It was Thursday morning, and the penthouse was experiencing a rare moment of domestic tranquility. My wife was currently sprawled on our plush yellow rug in the foyer, using Barney as a very fluffy cushioned backrest while she scrolled through the Bamboo investing app. I was standing in the kitchen, carefully measuring out exactly eighteen grams of light roast coffee beans, when the private elevator chimed.The heavy brass doors slid open.

"Matt! Tell me you have something stronger than tap water, because the traffic on the bridge was a literally.."

Mac stepped out of the elevator, a leather duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his dark hair artfully messy. He stopped dead in his tracks. He didn't see me in the kitchen. Instead, his eyes fell directly on the center of the foyer, where my wife was currently sitting in a pair of bright silk pajamas, with a massive golden retriever practically acting as her mattress.

"Oh," Mac blinked, his voice dropping an octave. "Well. This is certainly a step up from your usual minimalistic boring decor."

Juniper didn't startle. She slowly tilted her head toward the sound of his voice, her sunglasses sliding slightly down her nose. "Darling? Did you buy a very loud, very dramatic servant, or did one of your shipping containers escape and learn how to speak?" I stepped out of the kitchen, wiping my hands on a towel, a dry smirk on my face. "June, this is Mac. One of the few people I tolerate from my university days. Mac, this is my beautiful wife, Juniper." Mac’s jaw practically hit the floor. He looked from my wife, to the massive dandelion yellow rug beneath her, to the drooling golden retriever, and finally to me standing there in a casual t-shirt with a kitchen towel in my hand. "You're... you're real," Mac breathed, taking a step forward and dropping his duffel bag onto the floor. "I thought the press releases were some type of elaborate tax write off. Matias, you married an actual angel. And she has excellent taste in rugs."

"Oh, I like him already," June beamed, sitting up and letting Barney roll onto his side with a heavy grunt. She extended her hand toward Mac with perfect, queenly grace. "Come here, Mac. Tell me immediately: does your friend always walk around looking like he’s about to foreclose on an orphanage, or is that a look he developed specifically for me?"

Mac let out a booming, delighted laugh, stepping onto the yellow rug and taking her hand. Instead of the gentle, overly cautious grip people usually gave her, he gave her hand a enthusiastic, friendly shake.

"It’s his default setting, Juniper," Mac laughed, leaning in as if sharing a great secret. "I once saw him negotiate a drink order with the intensity of a hostile corporate takeover. The poor bartender literally cried."

"I did not make her cry," I muttered, stepping over and handing Juniper her perfectly steamed latte. "She was simply overwhelmed by my efficiency."

"That’s exactly what a robot would say," Juniper chimed in, taking a sip of her coffee and purring in appreciation. "Thank you, husband. Now, Mac, sit. Tell me everything. I want to know all of Matias’s deepest, darkest secrets. Does he sleep in a suit? Does he schedule his dreams in Outlook?"

"Actually," Mac grinned, sliding onto the sofa and immediately scratching Barnaby behind the ears, "he once tried to organize our college road trip using a color coded spreadsheet. We were thirty minutes late to a rest stop in Pennsylvania, and I thought he was going to file for corporate restructuring."

I closed my eyes, rubbing the bridge of my nose as a headache began to form. "It was an optimization model, Mac. If we had followed the schedule, we would have avoided the construction on Interstate 80."

"See?" Juniper laughed, throwing her head back, her bright, musical voice filling the high ceilings of the penthouse. "He’s entirely hopeless. But don't worry, Mac. I’m slowly humanizing him. Yesterday, I made him help me inflate a bounce house on the balcony."

Mac froze, his eyes widening as he looked at me. "You? In a bounce house?"

"I was conducting a proper safety inspection," I said stiffly, though the warmth blooming in my chest at the sound of my wife's laughter was impossible to ignore. "Matias Stone in a bounce house," Mac whispered, a slow, triumphant grin spreading across his face. "Oh, this is the greatest day of my life. I am never leaving this apartment."