Seventy-eight:
Prince Declan
Paisley was coming with us.
I saw her as we were boarding the palaces private plane to go to New York. “Kenna,” I said, grabbing her by the arm before we got on, “how did she worm her way in?”
“What?” Kenna said. “She’s our friend.”
“Dixon’s our friend too, but you’ll notice I didn’t invite him,” I said, “you know that Paisley and I have a troubled history. This trip was supposed to be about the two of us getting to know each other.”
“She’s one of my best friends,” Kenna reminded me, “and she thought that we were leaving her out and was really upset about it. Come on. It’s one trip. We’ll get to have other trips together.”
Paisley was standing up at entrance of the plain, waving enthusiastically at me. I had wasted so many
