The Billionaire’s Blind Wife

Chapter 7

Matias

If anyone had told me a month ago that I would be spending my Friday evening at an avant garde art gallery in Chelsea willingly I would have had my legal team draft a psychological evaluation for them.Yet, here I was. The gallery was a sterile, echoing cavern of white concrete and exposed pipes, populated by people wearing asymmetrical black clothing and tiny, useless glasses. On the walls hung massive canvases painted entirely in various shades of grey. It was the kind of event my PR team begged me to attend to "soften my scary corporate image." Usually, I’d show up for exactly twelve minutes, shake three hands, write a tax deductible check, and leave. But tonight was different , I was on a leash. A very sarcastic, very pink leash which is being held by my wife."Tell me about this one," Juniper whispered, her arm looped securely through mine. She had opted for a sleek, floor length emerald silk dress tonight that clung to her curves like liquid glass, paired with her signature combat boots which she insisted were absolutely non negotiable for "navigating the treacherous terrain of artistic egos." She had left her sunglasses at home, her striking amber eyes were completely uncovered, making her look both incredibly vulnerable and utterly deadly.

We were standing in front of a canvas that was, as far as I could tell, was just a giant black square. "It’s a black square," I said flatly. "In the center of a grey background. The title is 'The Void of Existential Consumerism." Juniper let out a loud, and highly inappropriate snort. Several people in linen suits turned to glare at us. I gave them a look that had successfully settled three hostile proxy wars, and they all immediately looked back at their expensive champagne."Existential consumerism?" My wife giggled, leaning her head against my shoulder. The scent of her now a heady mix of jasmine and some other dark, spiced plum wrapped around me like a physical touch. "My god, Matias. Was a trust fund kid not able to buy his limited edition toy and got sad? It sounds like they just ran out of paint."

"It probably costs forty thousand dollars," I muttered, looking down at her. "I could paint that with my eyes closed," she said, deadpan. I paused, staring at her profile. "That is technically true."

"See? I’m a multi talented artistic prodigy," she beamed, tilting her chin up. "You really scored with this marriage, Mr Stone. Not only do I sing Puccini, but I can also generate high value, low effort contemporary art for your tax write offs. You're welcome."

"I am a truly blessed man," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.The sarcasm in my voice was there, but beneath it, a strange, terrifying layer of sincerity had taken root. I looked at the way the gallery's harsh spotlights caught the golden undertones of her skin. She was glowing. Amidst a room full of people pretending to feel deeply about grey paint, she was the only thing that felt entirely, vibrantly real. "Matias? Juniper?"

The nasal, overly cultured voice cut through our bubble. I suppressed a groan as Alistair Sterling a prominent venture capitalist who had been trying to get a meeting with me for six months approached us, flanked by his incredibly stiff looking wife. "Alistair," I said, my voice instantly dropping into its familiar, icy corporate register. My posture stiffened, my shoulder squaring instinctively. "I didn't know you frequented these events."

"Oh, we adore modern minimalism," Alistair gushed, his eyes darting hungrily toward my wife. "And this must be the lovely Juniper. We were so deeply moved to hear about your... circumstances. It must be so incredibly brave of you to venture out into such a visual space." The temperature around us dropped twenty degrees. I felt Juniper’s s arm tense against mine. People always did this. They talked about her blindness like it was a terminal illness she was courageously fighting by simply existing in public. I felt a sudden, violent urge to call my security detail and have Alistair escorted out of the state of New York. But before I could speak, Juniper let out a soft, dramatic gasp."Oh, Alistair," she said, her voice trembling slightly. She reached out with her free hand, her fingers fluttering near her collarbone in a display of pure, unadulterated theater. "You have absolutely no idea. The bravery it takes is immense. In fact, just moments ago, I was looking at this stunning masterpiece..."

She pointed a finger directly at Alistair's wife's face. "...and I was simply overwhelmed by the raw, tragic brushwork. The absolute lack of symmetry. The... the sheer, unpainted emptiness of it all."

Mrs. Sterling’s jaw dropped. Alistair froze, his face turning a spectacular shade of plum.

"Honey," I cleared my throat, desperately trying to swallow the massive, roaring laugh that was threatening to tear through my chest. "That is Mrs. Sterling." Juniper’s hand flew to her mouth in mock horror. "Oh! Oh, my goodness! I am so incredibly sorry! You see, without my glasses, everything is just a blurry smudge of expensive fabric and existential dread. I thought you were a very avant garde installation about the horrors of upper class aging." I had to bite the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper. "We... we must be going," Alistair sputtered, grabbing his wife’s elbow and practically dragging her away from us and into the crowd.

As soon as they were out of earshot, I turned to Juniper. She was shaking, her hand still pressed over her mouth, her shoulders trembling with silent laughter. "You are a terrible human being," I whispered, leaning down so my lips were brushing the shell of her ear. "A truly, wonderfully terrible human being."

"He started it," she wheezed, finally letting go of her laugh, her amber eyes bright with mischief as she looked up at me. "Besides, I gave his wife a dear compliment. Avant garde is very in right now."

"You called her a blurry smudge," I corrected, a smile breaking across my face, completely destroying the cold, untouchable facade I had spent a decade building. "And you pointed at her face."

"It was a calculated risk," she shrugged, adjusting her grip on my arm, pulling me closer until there was no space between us. "But you didn't stop me. Which means you're an accomplice to the crime, Sinclair. We’re partners in delinquency now."

"I have excellent lawyers," I murmured, my gaze dropping to her lips, which were curved into a triumphant, beautiful smile. "They can handle a defamation suit."

"Good," she whispered, her voice dropping its playful edge, her breathing slowing as she felt the shift in my posture. "Because I have a feeling I’m going to make you break a lot more rules before we’re through husband."