The Billionaire’s Blind Wife

Chapter 9

Matias

The rain had started coming down heavily by the time we reached the penthouse, heavy sheets of water lashing against the massive glass walls of the living room. June had immediately shed her heels at the door, marching barefoot toward the kitchen to get a glass of water unassisted, and with a triumphant smirk when she successfully activated the pressure sensitive cabinet on her first try. "Victory is mine!" she cheered, holding up a glass. "I am the queen of modern kitchen design."

"Don't get cocky," I said, shedding my suit jacket and tossing it onto a chair. I watched her walk back into the living room, her movements fluid and confident. "You still haven't figured out how to program the thermostat yet ."

"That’s because your stupid thermostat requires a degree in aerospace engineering and that wasn’t my major," she retorted, stopping near the grand piano. She ran a hand over the polished black wood, her expression softening. "Besides, I like it warm. It's good for the throat." She sits down at the bench, her emerald dress pooling around her like water. Barney, who had been sleeping in his usual spot on the sofa, lifted his head, gave a soft whine of a greeting, and went back to sleep."Are you going to sing?" I asked, leaning against the concrete pillar near the window, watching her."Do you want me to?" She tilted her head, her fingers hovering over the keys. "I thought my 'interference' was substantial."

"It is," I said, stepping away from the pillar and walking toward the piano to be closer to her. The dim light of the city through the rain streaked glass cast long, dramatic shadows across the room. "But the Tokyo office is asleep. And I... want to hear you sing wife." She went quiet. It was that rare, beautiful stillness again. She lowered her hands to the keys, striking a soft, minor chord that echoed through the vast, and quiet space of the penthouse. Then, she started singing. It wasn't the loud, booming opera she sang to annoy me during my business calls. It was something entirely different. It was a slow, beautifully haunting, stripped down melody. Her voice was pure, velvety, and laced with a deep, aching vulnerability that made my chest tighten. She sang in Italian, the words flowing like a river, full of passion and a quiet, devastating sorrow.I walked even closer, stopping right at the edge of the piano. I didn't look at the rain. I didn't think about the merger. I didn't care about the board of directors, or my father, or the billions of dollars resting on my shoulders. I just looked at her my June, my wife.

As she hit the final, soaring note a sound so beautiful and clear it felt like it was pulling the air right out of my lungs her fingers lingered on the keys, the sound slowly dying away into the quiet hum of the rain. She sat perfectly still, her head slightly bowed eyes closed. "What was that song?" I asked, my voice husky, barely more than a whisper.

"It’s a song about a bird," she said softly, her amber eyes rising to find mine in the dark. "A bird that lived in a beautiful golden cage. Everyone came to hear it sing, to marvel at its beautiful feathers, to admire the cage. But no one ever opened the door. No one ever asked if the bird wanted to fly." She swallowed, her throat moving elegantly."They just wanted the song." I didn't think. I couldn't.

I stepped around the piano, reaching down and taking her hands, gently pulling her up from the bench. She rose easily, her body coming to rest against mine. I could feel the rapid, terrified beat of her heart against my chest.

"June," I murmured, my hands sliding up to cup her face, my thumbs tracing the line of her jaw. "I don't want the song."

"No?" she whispered, her breath hitching, her hands coming up to rest against my chest, her fingers clutching the fabric of my shirt. "Then what do you want, Matias?"

"I want the bird," I whispered. And then, finally, I leaned down and closed the distance between us.

The kiss wasn't cold and controlled, and it certainly wasn't professional. It was slow, desperate, and thick with all the unsaid words, the sarcastic banter, and the hidden warmth we had been building for weeks. Her lips were soft, parting with a quiet sigh as she leaned into me, her hands sliding up to wrap around the back of my neck, pulling me down closer. The world outside the glass walls of the penthouse faded into nothing but wind and water. And at the center of my cold, concrete house, I finally found something worth keeping.