Epilogue
ASHTON
“ F iona?” 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 McFly feeds 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 love it. “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?—
“Whatcha thinking?” she asks as we stroll up the path.
A smile tugs the edge of my mouth. “You know, four months ago, I would have been terrified by that question.”
“And now look at you.” She squeezes my hand. “Going to therapy, expressing your feelings, sharing your thoughts and your fears?—”
“Don’t forget fucking you senseless each night.”
She laughs. “My knees are still shaky from sex in the shower this morning. Trust me, I’ll never forget.”
She allows me to steer her past the gate that leads to the front of our property. We take this route sometimes when we’d like a long walk, but tonight there’s a reason I’m guiding her to the back of the house.
A reason she’ll see momentarily.
“Are you dodging the question?”
“Question?” I’ve already forgotten she asked one, thanks to the distraction of my surprise. “You asked what I was thinking. I was fondly recalling making love to you on the beach last night.”
“Mmm, that was lovely.” She tugs at the back of her dress with only the slightest wince. “Worth getting sand in my snatch.”
“Sorry about that.” Perhaps not as sorry as I should be. It really was fantastic. “Next time I’ll bring a bigger blanket.”
“I can always count on you to look out for my coochie.” She gives a satisfied sigh, swinging our hands as we walk. “Did you mark yourself out of the office next week?”
“What for?” I wink when she looks up and glares. “Of course I remembered. I wouldn’t miss Sara and Trent’s bachelor and bachelorette party weekend for anything.”
“Good.” Worry lines wiggle their way through her brow. “I still think something’s up. Trent hasn’t said anything to you?”
“Not a word.” I’ve grown oddly close to the rugged young SEAL over a few dozen visits with Camille’s friends.
We flew Sara and Eve and their partners to Italy last month to celebrate Kit’s birthday.
I’ve enjoyed spending time with them all, but I’ve clicked most closely with Trent.
He reminds me of Logan in a way, what with the military background.
I imagine the two would get on swimmingly if they ever were to meet.
But back to Camille’s question. “Maybe Trent’s just nervous about the wedding? I can understand not wanting to be the center of attention.”
“Could be.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “I just hope he doesn’t break Sara’s heart.”
“He won’t.” I hope I’m right. He’s a good man, even if he has issues.
Don’t we all?
We walk for a while in silence, bathed in saltwater breeze and the perfume of tropical flowers.
It’s become our routine a few days a week, taking the yacht to the resort for a meal.
Sometimes we’ll spend time with Sybil and Kora or grab burgers with Logan or Zane or Nico or other consorts whose company we enjoy.
Afterward, we’ll return home for a walk or a swim or a kayak paddle in the cove of our own private beach. I never thought I could be this happy. I only hope I’m giving Camille even a fraction of the joy she’s brought me.
“I’m almost embarrassed by how much you’ve been spoiling me.” She smiles like she’s just read my mind. “The home office is incredible.”
“Glad you like it.”
“I still can’t figure out how you kept a whole freakin’ construction project a secret.”
“It wasn’t easy.” It helped to time out the bulk of construction with one of our visits to Portland. “I knew how important it was that you have a dedicated space for your telehealth patient consultations.”
“It’s a palace in there, Ash.” She’s glowing with gratitude, so I know she doesn’t object to the opulence. “Most therapists just run a white noise machine outside to muffle sound.”
“I thought having your own waterfall would be soothing.” I also made sure she can switch it off easily if it’s ever distracting. “And the sea view from that space is my favorite in the house.”
“It’s amazing, thank you.” She shoots me a teasing look. “Who knew Squirrel Appreciation Day was a gift giving occasion?”
“One that requires no involvement from squirrels.” God, I love making her smile.
“Almost as meaningful as the time you insisted we celebrate National Eggs Benedict Day by going down on me for an hour.”
“I made breakfast that morning.” It was French toast, rather than benedict, but the sentiment was there. “Don’t forget Put a Pillow on Your Fridge Day.”
“I still can’t believe that’s a real thing.” She always Googles to make sure.
“Better mark your calendar for next year.”
“Already did. Along with International Goof Off Day, which apparently calls for a trip to Paris?”
“Oui.” I’ve booked it for March, which is when the blessed occasion occurs. “It seemed imperative to fulfill our bucket list wish of sex in the Eiffel Tower.”
“A thing I didn’t know was possible until I started banging a billionaire.”
“Money has its perks.” We’re almost to the back of the house, which means she’s about to see my latest surprise. Kora helped coordinate the delivery while Camille and I lunched at the resort.
We’re approaching the pasture when a low whinny confirms we’re all set. I glance at Camille, not sure she heard it.
“Wait.” Her forehead crinkles as she looks at me. “Was that a horse?”
“Not precisely.” Rounding the corner, we come to the edge of the paddock.
A paddock where one russet mare looks up with a whinny, then trots to the edge of the fence. “A pony .”
“A pony?” Camille gasps and runs to the edge of the fence. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Sybil said it would be a nice surprise.” I watch as she holds out her hand and the sprightly brown mare ambles over. “They left you a basket of apple slices by the gate.”
“Oh my God, Ash.” Beaming with glee, she bends and picks up a slice. Slowly, gently, she holds out the fruit on a flattened palm.
The animal flutters her mouth over the treat, then plucks it from Camille’s hand and munches it down. Pawing the ground, she gives a soft nicker of approval.
“What a sweetheart.” Camille picks up another bite of apple. “Her lips are so soft.”
“She came from a rescue group that rehabilitates farm animals from difficult circumstances.” I’ve got a complete dossier on this little mare, which I’ve tucked on Camille’s desk to read later. “We’ve been corresponding for a month to find just the right pony.”
“I love her.” Camille strokes the crooked white starburst on the mare’s nose. “She’s so sweet.”
Making this woman happy will never stop bringing me pleasure. Afternoon sunlight gleams in her hair as she scratches the pony’s curved ears. Her laugh feels like fizzy soda in my chest cavity.
God, I love her.