Chapter 19.
All the way back to her cabin, Kitty couldn’t shake the thought: Percy must hold an important position on this ship. Every crew member they passed bowed their head to him with a level of respect far different from how they treated ordinary passengers.
When they reached the cabin corridor, Percy leaned in and brushed a short kiss across her forehead.
“Sleep well, Kitty.”
“…You too.”
He slipped into the room next to hers, offering one last soft smile before the door closed behind him.
Only after hearing the latch click did Kitty rush into her own cabin. She pressed her back to the door, wide-eyed, a hand clamped over her mouth.
You idiot, Kitty Summers.
She had been so certain Percy hadn’t recognized her. But clearly—he had.
When? From the very first moment they met?
She replayed everything he’d said.
He had told her—straightforwardly—that he liked her.
Percy Collins liked Kitty Summers.
He liked her.
But… that didn’t make sense.
We were just comrades. Nothing more.
If Percy had been in love with Greta, then why had he looked like the world had ended after he married her? Shouldn’t he have been happy?
And what did he mean by:
“The person I hated was always me. Never my wife.”
Nothing added up. Percy had never shown even a flicker of personal feeling toward Greta. He had always been reliable, composed, unwavering—but never emotional.
Maybe… he acted like that because he had feelings.
No. Impossible. He couldn’t have liked me from the moment we met.
Kitty shook her head, scattering the puzzle pieces in her mind. He could not possibly have liked her back when they were serving in the military. Surely, those feelings—if they existed—only formed after they returned to civilian life. That had to be it.
In the bathroom, she washed off her makeup—her shield. When she lifted her face, the mirror reflected not Kitty Summers, but Greta Holt: the same face with only slightly redder hair. Kitty stared at the ghost of her past, wiped away the last droplets of water, and turned off the lights.
She sank into bed and listened to the distant rumbling of the sea.
Why overthink this?
She was Kitty Summers. Everyone knew her that way. Percy treated her as Kitty Summers. Greta was buried—and needed to stay buried. Tonight she’d slipped, letting Greta’s voice surface from fear. But that wouldn’t happen again.
She would live as Kitty.
People called her Miss Summers. She responded as Kitty. She would treat Percy the same way.
My name is no longer Greta Holt.
We met at a bar, and that was when Percy fell for me.
That was the story. Simple.
All she had to ask herself was:
What would Kitty Summers think of Percy?
A pianist. A man with a sly smile. A man hiding something deep beneath the surface.
A man who kissed like sin.
Heat crept down her neck as the memory surfaced—his arms around her, the urgency in his touch.
Kitty would definitely be interested in Percy.
With that conclusion, everything inside her settled. She drifted toward sleep, forgetting entirely that, on the other side of the wall, Percy lay just a few feet away.
Morning arrived.
“Miss Summers, did you sleep well?” Jerome asked, looking impossibly refreshed, though he was still yawning.
“You complained so much about the bed and ended up sleeping like a rock,” she teased.
He sniffed dramatically. “If I’d slept on that bed, I’d have died. Eternal rest.”
Kitty laughed—the flawless stage persona restored.
Jerome fussed and scolded, worrying over her voice, reminding her to stay in the cabin, reminding her she was here to perform. And when he asked:
“You didn’t meet anyone last night, did you?”
“Nothing happened!” she blurted—lying through her teeth.
He sighed. “Right. That’s what you always say.”
He meant well, and Kitty knew it. She didn’t want to make him collapse with stress. She nodded obediently—though she herself wasn’t convinced nothing would happen.
Because how could she tell him the truth?
“I’m actually a runaway war hero pilot, and I ran into my husband last night, and he confessed to me.”
Impossible.
Meanwhile, elsewhere on the ship—
Kyle leaned back in a terrace chair, smoking. Even he needed moments of quiet, despite his reputation for indulging in every vice available.
Last night, he’d slept with a well-bred lady—thinking about Collins the whole time. He couldn’t even remember the girl’s name. Didn’t care to. She had cried and moaned beneath him, and as he moved, he wondered what Percy was doing. If Percy really did have a new woman… were they tangled up in each other right now?
Had they already done it? More than once?
Kitty. That was her name. Did she scream the same way?
He had buried his face in the girl’s neck and fantasized about sleeping with Percy’s woman. But imagination wasn’t enough.
Kyle wanted reality.
He wanted to take what belonged to Percy.
What kind of woman could turn that man’s head?
He was nearly sick with curiosity, with the thrill of the idea.
Then, he saw her.
Kitty Summers—alone, walking across the deck.
Kyle stubbed out his cigarette and smiled, slow and predatory.
Perfect.
