Free Hope's Folly by Linnea Sinclair

lavatory next to the galley. The door slammed shut.
    Philip let his head thump back against the bulkhead. He scrubbed his face with his hands.
    His subbie was Rya the Rebel. Sub-Lieutenant Rya Bennton. Polite, professional, and prepared to kill.
    And fully torn to shreds by the death of her father.
    And there was not one goddamned thing Admiral Philip Guthrie could do to change that.
     
    Rya braced herself over the lav's small basin as sobs wracked her body.
    Goddamned stupid slag-headed idiot!
    She'd fractured completely, coming apart in great horrible ugly chunks right in front of Philip Guthrie. Admiral Philip Guthrie. Her CO, if he didn't toss her fat unworthy ass off his ship the minute they hit the Seth shipyards.
    Served her right if he did so.
    She was ImpSec. SPS. You did not— did not —come apart, ever. And never in front of a senior officer.
    Especially not when that CO was the one man besides your father who was your always-forever dream hero.
    Lieutenant Philip Guthrie. Odd how over the years she'd forgotten his face but not the effect he'd had on her. And not certain details. The way he'd lounged at her parents’ dining-room table, a slender-stemmed wineglass in his thick fingers. Strong fingers. Strong enough to hold something so delicate without breaking it. Strong enough to fire those powerful weapons that were her father's passion.
    She'd tried so hard to behave that night, but when her father said he was bringing home one of his officers, she'd never thought it would be someone like Philip. She'd met his officers before. Gruff women who pinched her cheeks. Fat men who smelled like cigars.
    And then Philip strode in, tall and strong, with those beautiful blue eyes, like a prince from her storyvids. And for the first time in her life she'd fallen in love with a man who wasn't her father.
    She could not sit still. She'd wanted to fling her arms around his waist and hug him.
    But she was just a child. Fat and freckled with frizzy hair.
    Then he'd put his Carver in her hands, talking all the while about the weapon's problems as if she were a grown-up and really understood, and he held her small hands in his large warm ones while she aimed at the target and fired.
    She didn't wash her hands for a week after that.
    And now she'd just completely unraveled in front of him. Dishonored herself. Dishonored her duty to her father.
    Fat slag-headed idiot.
    She pulled off her beret, splashed water on her face, then ran damp hands through her hair. She stared at her reflection in the mirror.
    Lose thirty pounds and you'd be decent, Rya.
    Yeah, and do something with the hair. Cut your legs off at the ankles. You're too damned tall. Thinner waist, thinner thighs. Learn not to snort when you laugh. Stop saying fuck so much.
    Fuck you.
    Get control of your emotions, Subbie. You've an injured officer out there, an admiral who has no time for your hormonal meltdowns, your stupid petty daydreams. Do your fucking job. Make your father proud.
    Find Tage and shove his goddamned fucking head up his goddamned fucking ass.
    She grabbed her beret, opened the lav door, and steeled herself to face Guthrie's wrath.
    But he was gone, only his neatly folded overcoat on the decking proof that he'd ever been there.

 
     

     
     
    Rya followed the deep, cultured tones to the shuttle's large passenger cabin and found Admiral Philip Guthrie perched on the arm of someone's—some woman's— seat, putting in face time with those who were soon to be his ship's crew.
    Martoni stood a few seats behind him, one elbow on the back of another seat.
    Guthrie was talking about the ship, the Stryker-class cruiser. She remembered the thrill, the vindication she felt when her former chief on Calth 9 told her Adney's call for crew was to serve on the old Stockwell. It had been her father's ship. She shoved that thought away.
    “We're going to have to push her through basic refit, fast,” Guthrie said. “Head for Ferrin's. Keep in mind she's