The Billionaire’s Blind Wife

Chapter 14

Juniper

"If you drop your end, Matias, I swear to god I will replace all your silk ties with novelty clip ons that play the Macarena when you press them."

"I’m not dropping it," Matias grunted, his voice muffled by the sheer mass of heavy wool between us. "But for the record, this is not just 'a yellow rug.' This is a biological hazard June. It looks like a dandelion exploded in our foyer."

"It is ochre," I corrected, shifting my grip on the tightly rolled cylinder. "And it brings warmth to this ugly concrete slab you call an entryway. Now, on three, we drop and roll. One... two... three!" With a synchronized, heavy thud, the rug hit the floor. I immediately dropped to my knees, running my hands over the texture. It was incredibly plush, thick enough that my fingers sank entirely into the soft wool. "Oh, yes," I sighed happily, stretching my arms out across the soft pile. "This is magnificent. Barney, come test the quality!" From the living room, I heard the heavy, rhythmic thumping of Barney's tail hitting the sofa, followed by the slow, lazy click of his claws on the hardwood. A moment later, a massive, warm weight flopped directly onto my legs, accompanied by a long, appreciative groan. "See?" I called out, looking up toward where I assumed Matias was standing. "The furry critic has spoken. Five stars."

"The critic would sleep on a pile of wet cardboard if it meant he didn't have to walk to his food bowl," Matias said. I heard him walk closer, his leather shoes silent against the newly laid wool. Then, I felt the air shift as he knelt beside me. His hand finding the back of my neck, his fingers warm and sliding under the collar of my oversized knit sweater. He massaged the tense muscles at the base of my skull, a slow, deep pressure that made me melt instantly against Barney's furry back. "You have wool in your hair," Matias murmured, his voice dropping into that low, private register he only used when it was just the two of us, the dog, and the quiet penthouse. "It’s an accessory," I mumbled, leaning back against his chest. He adjusted his position, sitting down fully on the bright yellow rug and pulling me back until I was nestled securely between his thighs. "You know, for a ruthless corporate raider, you make a very comfortable backrest."

"Don't let the press find out," he whispered, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder. His hands sliding down to wrap around my waist, his thumbs tracing slow patterns over my hip bones through the fabric of my leggings. "It would ruin my leverage in the European shipping acquisitions."

"Oh, the shipping lanes," I sighed dramatically, tilting my head back to look at his face. "Are they still lonely without you, darling? Did the little boats miss their stern, unyielding master?"

"They’re managing well," he said, a quiet vibration of laughter in his chest. "But their master is currently being held hostage by a Brunete singer and a lazy golden retriever." I turned my head slightly, my lips brushing the cool skin of his neck. "Are you complaining, husband?"

"Never," he whispered. His grip tightening, and he turned me in his arms until I was sitting sideways on his lap. His eyes which I knew were currently dark, intense, and entirely focused on me felt like physical heat on my skin. He reached up, his fingers gently threading through my hair, tilting my face up to meet his. When his lips met mine, it was slow, deep, and tasted faintly of the sweet orange tea we had shared an hour ago. There was no rush, no boardroom meetings to hurry to, no fathers to impress or outmaneuver. Just the soft yield of the yellow rug beneath us, the steady hum of the city far below, and the quiet, undeniable truth that our beautiful, chaotic mess of a marriage was the best thing either of us had ever built.

Matias

The problem with falling in love with a woman who can’t see you is that you become hyper aware of every sound you make. I stood in my study, staring at a stack of files, but my mind was entirely focused on the sound of the piano drifting down the hallway. June was composing. It wasn't her usual soaring operatic scales or the dramatic, tongue in cheek ballads she sang to tease me. This melody was tentative. Soft. A single, recurring motif that felt like a question asked in the dark.

I closed the folder, slid my fountain pen into my breast pocket, and walked toward the living room.

She was sitting at the baby grand, the late afternoon sun streaming through the massive glass windows and bathing her in a warm, amber light. Her dark hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few stray curls framing her face. She was completely absorbed in the music, her fingers moving across the keys with a delicate, reverent touch. I stopped at the edge of the room, not wanting to break the spell she had cast. But it was as if she had a radar specifically tuned to my presence, her fingers paused on a half resolved chord. "You're breathing a little too loudly, Stone," she said, not turning around, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Did a spreadsheet offend you, or are you just here to admire my posture?"

"Your posture is decent," I said, walking over and leaning against the side of the piano, looking down at her. "But I was actually admiring the melody. What is it?"

"It doesn't have a name yet," she said softly, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the keys without pressing them down. "It's a work in progress. Like us." I reached out, my hand covering hers on the keys. Her fingers were warm, and she instantly turned her hand over, interlacing her fingers with mine. "I think we're progressing quite well," I murmured, pulling her gently up from the bench.

She doesn’t resist. She stood up, stepping into my space until her forehead rested against my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight, feeling the small, steady rise and fall of her chest.

"Matias?" she whispered into my shirt."Yes?"

"My father called me this morning."I tensed instinctively, my hand resting flat against her back. "What did he want?" "He wants to know if you are treating me well," she said, her voice carrying a rare, quiet vulnerability that made my heart ache. "He said he was worried that the Sinclair name would swallow me whole. That I would lose my voice in your world." I closed my eyes, my chin resting on the top of her head. The marriage had been a cold, calculated transaction between two aging patriarchs, but standing here, holding the living, breathing heart of that merger, I knew I would tear down my entire empire before I let anyone, including my own father, dim her light. "You could never lose your voice, Juniper," I said, my voice thick with a fierce, protective gravity. "You’re too loud. Too stubborn. And entirely too bratty." She let out a soft, wet chuckle, her arms tightening around my waist. "That's very true. I am a handful."

"You are," I agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to her temple. "But you're my handful. And if your father, or my father, or the entire board of directors ever tries to quiet you down... I’ll burn everything to the ground." She lifted her head, her amber eyes bright with a mixture of mischief and something deeply, beautifully tender."Is that a promise, CEO?"

"It's a binding contract, wife," I whispered, sliding my hand up to cup her cheek. "And I never lose a negotiation."

"Good," she breathed, her lips parting as she leaned up toward me. "Because I really enjoying being here ."