Chapter 4.
“Kitty? Miss Summers, are you listening?”
Kitty snapped back to reality, her gaze still fixed on the red fighter plane. Through the thick, nerdy-looking glasses, Tommy was watching her. Right… this was her current reality.
Had she run away from a forced marriage just to go on a date with a nerd?
Ugh, absolutely not. Kitty made up her mind and smiled. Tommy, relieved by her bright smile, visibly relaxed.
“Was that all you wanted to say?”
“Huh? No! There’s still so much I want to show you—”
“Tom, you’re a very nice person, really. But just so you know—women generally don’t want to look at photos of wrinkly old men or piles of junk metal when they’re on a date.”
“Junk metal…?”
His face turned ghostly pale. How could that be the part that offended him? Kitty realized there was no saving this situation. Like a doctor delivering bad news, she slowly shook her head.
“If this isn’t a pile of junk, then what is it? Because that’s exactly what it looks like to me.”
“This is a historical monument.”
“Fine, then let’s call it historically significant junk metal.”
“……”
“And this model doesn’t remove its cannons—it replaces them. Three MG-17 machine guns, not two. Its service ceiling is also 500 meters lower.”
As she explained, she scratched the back of her head in irritation. Why the hell did she still remember this stuff?
This date needed to end. If she stayed any longer, she wasn’t sure she could control herself.
“I’m leaving.”
“W–wait, just a moment—!”
“I sincerely hope you meet a woman who loves junk metal.”
Waving a hand behind her back, she walked out of the exhibition hall. Once she was outside, she pulled sunglasses from her handbag and put them on—just in case someone recognized her.
Not as the legendary pilot Greta Holt, of course.
But as “Queen of the Night” Kitty Summers.
As soon as the date ended, a new destination formed in her mind. Going home wasn’t an option. She needed her favorite bar. She headed to a small saloon on the outskirts of town—the one with the sign Black Prince.
The door swung open, greeting her with warm lighting and jukebox music. Despite the early hour, plenty of people were already having a drink.
“Hey, Kit. Welcome. Your usual?”
“That’d be great.”
“Shots?”
“Make it two.”
Hannah, the bartender, quickly prepared her drink. Kitty removed her sunglasses as she sat down. Hannah’s face came into clear view.
“You look a little down.”
“Because of a guy.”
“What now—did someone set you up with another jerk?”
“Not that bad. He’s nice. Sweet. But not worth my time. Come on—me? Dating a nerd? Unrealistic.”
“Why do you step on a landmine every time you date someone? Or are your standards just too high? Then again, you’re Kitty Summers. It’d be weird if you dated just anyone.”
“Hey, keep your voice down.”
“Fine, fine.”
Kitty took a drink, the burn sliding down her throat. But her mood didn’t improve. Why? Tommy wasn’t the irritating type.
Maybe she’d thought too much about the past. That stupid airplane had dragged her back—right to the memories she least wanted to relive.
The hardest part of all? She had no one to confide in.
Kitty had escaped her forced marriage. Built a new life, a new identity.
Only she knew she was once pilot Greta Holt.
Not even Hannah, the closest thing she had to a confidant, knew what Kitty had been through.
Still, she didn’t regret coming to The Black Prince. She didn’t feel like going home.
If she couldn’t talk about the past, she could at least talk about something else.
“Don’t you have someone to introduce me to?”
“Me? Why ask me?”
“You know all the customers. One of them has to be at least decent looking, right?”
“Kit, you don’t find boyfriends in bars. Date someone stable. Someone future-material.”
“I’m not looking for a husband. Just a boyfriend.”
“Same concept—boyfriend is present tense, husband is future tense.”
“Oh, please.”
“And you’re a star! People adore you, and you know it. Someone like you shouldn’t date just anybody. You need a man with value. You’re you, after all.”
“You’re right.”
Kitty took another shot.
“It’s time I became picky. Today made that very clear.”
“I’m so proud I could cry. But what brought you here at this hour? No schedule today?”
“I cleared it. I’m boarding a big cruise soon, so I wanted to relax beforehand.”
“Good for you.”
A comfortable silence settled between them.
Then Hannah spoke again.
“You know, that reminds me—there is someone.”
“Who?”
“He came in recently. New face. Must’ve moved nearby. Had a drink and left, but I’m sure he’ll be back.”
“And you’re telling me this because…?”
“He’s gorgeous.”
Kitty instinctively straightened up. Hannah burst into laughter.
“Look at you sitting up just because I said ‘handsome.’”
“What does he look like? Tell me.”
“I don’t know, it was busy. I didn’t get a full look.”
“You just said he’s handsome. Evidence, please.”
“Movie-star handsome. And I couldn’t stare—bartenders can’t ogle customers. I told you, it was his first time here. Data insufficient.”
“Did you at least catch his name?”
“Nope. But I swear on The Black Prince—he’s the best-looking man I’ve ever seen. And he didn’t look like a sleazebag. Quiet, a little brooding. Voice—deep and low…”
“You’re just smitten.”
“Forget what I said. Maybe bar romance can work. He passes the preliminary round. You can evaluate him yourself later.”
Kitty imagined the mystery man. Hannah met countless faces daily. If she remembered, that meant something.
“But someone that handsome probably already has a girlfriend. Or a wife.”
“Why would you assume that? You don’t have one.”
“Fair point.”
“And if he did, why would he be here alone? My gut says—no attachments. Definitely single.”
The bell above the door jingled. Kitty ignored it—she’d heard it countless times here.
Footsteps approached slowly.
Hannah’s gaze locked on the newcomer.
Then she smiled. A strange, foreboding smile.
Oh no…
“Ah, welcome back. What can I get you?”
“Something light. Whiskey, please.”
“I’ll pour you a glass.”
Kitty, good luck. Hannah whispered as she walked away. Kitty, dulled by alcohol, still didn’t look. She focused on her drink instead.
The man sat a short distance away. Kitty turned her head automatically.
Black hair, neatly swept back. One elbow resting at the bar, eyes lowered.
He looked… sad. Heartbroken, even.
Maybe his wife ran away.
Their eyes met.
Golden—his eyes were the color of whiskey. Black hair, gold eyes.
He was staring at Kitty.
Electricity shot down her spine. Kitty snapped to full awareness.
Oh no. Oh, hell no.
Her officer—no.
Her husband was here.
The man she abandoned and ran from.
There was no doubt.
It was Lieutenant Percy Collins.
