On the tenth day of Wicked Little Secrets, my true love gave to me . . .
Ten Deranged Cockatoos!
A blur of white and pink flashed before Dashiell’s eyes. A
fluffy Cockatoo landed on Fontaine’s shoulder. Twisting its head, the bird
studied Dashiell with one black, round eye. Then it opened its beak, stuck out
a stubby, red tongue and hissed, bouncing up and down. “Frederick, stop that,”
she gently admonished, as she soothed its feathers. “Please excuse him. He
doesn’t like men. I don’t know why.”
The nervous bird edged across Fontaine’s shoulder and put
its beak near her ear. “I love you. I love you,” he cawed.
“I know you do, my darling,” Fontaine cooed to the bird.
“I know you do, my darling,” Fontaine cooed to the bird.
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