Eighty-one:
Prince Declan
She was there. Standing there, on the balcony, about to jump off it. But Fiona was there in New York at Leo Bastian’s loft. Alive. It was more than anything I ever could have dreamed. I ran to her, calling her name. “Fiona!” she turned, and I watched as she climbed down from the balcony back towards me.
I picked her up, and spun her around, kissing her fervently. “Fiona, Fiona, I can’t believe that you’re here. You’re here and your alive!”
“Who are you?” this came from her.
I pulled away, and her brows furrowed at me. “Is this a joke?” I said. “Fiona, it’s me. Declan.”
“My names not Fiona,” she said, “It’s Hera.”
I raised an eyebrow. “It’s Hera? No. No…. your name is Fiona.”
“I’m Hera,” s
