Page 100 of The VIP Package

ASHTON

3 months later

“Fiona?” Camille holds a fig in her palm, stretching to place it near the bottom-most branch on the tree. “This is for you, sweetheart. I’ll leave it here so you don’t have to take it from my hand.”

“Handjob!” McFly flaps his wings and performs a prideful strut on a low branch. “Handjob!”

Camille lays the fig on the branch just below him, then steps back and wipes a hand on her skirt. “Do you think he has any idea what he’s saying?”

“Probably not.” I watch him jump down and snap up the fig before flying it up to a high branch. “But now that he’s got a girlfriend, I like to think he’s putting his carnal wisdom to good use.”

We watch as McFly bustles up to his nest with the fig in his bright-yellow beak. A second beak pops over the edge, opening wide in invitation. Camille and I watch, transfixed, as McFlyfeeds the treat to the pretty young parrot that Camille named Fiona.

Based on how long the bird has been sitting here and our consultations with a local ornithologist, we suspect Fiona is sitting on a small clutch of eggs. We’ll know soon enough. In the meantime, McFly is behaving like a proud, doting dad.

“That’s so sweet.” Camille looks at me. “Would you bring me figs if I got pregnant?”

“I might question your nutritional judgment first.” The thought of Camille round and lush with my child puts a pleasurable buzz in my chest.

Someday.

“But yes,” I continue, “if you wanted figs, I would bring you every fig I could find. Fig Newtons. Figgy pudding. Fresh fig salad with bleu cheese and crispy prosciutto.”

“Mmm, that sounds like a dish Lars should make.”

“I’ll suggest it the next time we speak.”

It’s one of many inside jokes between us. If Camille craves scallops or fresh papaya poached in spiced rum, she suggests Lars prepare it for us. And if I’m moved to surprise her with some culinary delight—which happens quite often, I’ll admit—I give credit to my imaginary personal chef.

But back to the birds.

As Camille and I watch, proud father McFly watches his sweetheart gulp down the fig, then positions himself on a branch by her side.

“Good job, buddy,” Camille says. “We’ll come back later with more.”

McFly shakes his feathers and squawks.“Queening.”

Camille looks at me. “Is that new?”

“Zane taught it to him after we added the face sitting enchantment to the menu.” I’ve considered suggesting he stop teaching dirty words to the bird, but our guests seem to loveit. “Kora said she’s had three guests request the ‘Queen on Her Tongue Throne’ after McFly suggested it.”

“Good job.” She gives him a mocking thumbs-up. “Way to sell it, McFly.”

“Mastuwaiting!”

That’s a new one to me.

“I know that one.” Camille laughs. “He said it last week and I had to ask Sybil.”

I love that those two have become close friends. “What did she say?”

“It’s when you’re watching pornography while diddling yourself, but you have to wait for the video to buffer.”

Good lord. “Are we nearing the vocabulary limits of a Yellow-Billed Amazon yet?”

“Let’s hope not.”

Taking her hand, I guide Camille back up the path that leads from the dock to our home. It’s a lovely warm evening on the island, and I don’t blame the birds for settling here instead of at the resort. The privacy comes in quite handy when one wishes to skinny-dip alone with a partner. Or sunbathe nude. Or have sex on the beach beneath the stars with gentle waves licking our toes as we?—

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