Independence Day 2 Read online

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  INDEPENDENCE DAY 2

  by

  CHRISTIANE FRANCE

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

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  Independence Day 2

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.AmberQuill.com

  http://www.AmberHeat.com

  http://www.AmberAllure.com

  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2010 by Christiane France

  ISBN 978-1-60272-672-7

  Cover Art © 2010 Trace Edward Zaber

  Layout and Formatting

  Provided by: Elemental Alchemy

  Published in the United States of America

  Also by Christiane France

  Double Delicious

  Fast Forward

  French Twist

  The Gallery On Main Street

  I'm Sorry

  The Impossible Dream

  Independence Day

  It Takes Three

  Les Hommes, Vols. 1 & II

  Like A Moth To The Flame

  Oh, George

  Paris Heat

  Reincarnation

  Some Place Only We Know

  Strangers In The Night

  A Taste Of Honey

  This Time For Keeps

  Dedication

  For Roy and The Boys.

  INDEPENDENCE DAY 2

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  "No question but what you love the guy. Problem is the relationship no longer works. Sorry, but there's no way I can see how you going back will fix it because the same conditions still exist that made you leave in the first place."

  "You mean Al's double life and his refusal to face reality?"

  "Exactly. And if you can't talk him into giving it up and moving down here, then I hope you love him enough to face the fact it probably never will work and let him go."

  * * * *

  Nick Gregorio dropped his electric razor in the top drawer of the vanity and scowled at his reflection in the mirror. If he had a dollar for every time that particular conversation with his good friend, Trip Browning, had replayed itself over and over in his head, he could make a substantial donation to his favorite charity.

  Okay, so Al Martinsen, his longtime lover and partner, was impulsive and a bit thoughtless, a man who often got his priorities screwed up. But he and Al loved one another, and for that reason alone Nick had thought Al would have smartened up long before now.

  As it was--Giving in to a sudden flash of impotent fury, Nick slammed the vanity drawer shut with a loud bang. Six weeks ago, just when he'd decided what he and Al had had together was almost certainly over and he'd started feeling more settled in his new life, Al had blown into Vegas like a summer storm and made it clear he still cared. However, instead of apologizing and admitting he was to blame for the break-up, Al had acted like he was the injured party and Nick the villain of the piece. He'd even had the nerve to demand Nick give up his new job and return home.

  Just thinking about the way Al had shown up at Butterscotch Dreams, where Nick was working at the time, sent Nick's temper up another couple of notches. Al had behaved as if all he had to do was snap his fingers to get Nick's full attention. Whatever Al might think, Nick wasn't his pet dog to command whenever Al felt the urge. In fact-- His eyes burned and his stomach was in knots. He sucked in a deep breath, wishing he could write Al off as the total shit many people thought him to be and move on.

  He still remembered the way Al had boldly taken that first, all-important step to break down any barriers that existed the day he unexpectedly showed up here in Vegas. How his one simple action had so quickly brushed all the hurt and all the lonely months they'd spent apart to one side. And then, how they'd both grabbed at each other like a pair of starving animals, without a thought for anything or anyone except the need to feel and experience what Nick was still trying to convince himself he could actually live without. He could still feel the heat and the magic of Al's body locked with his, along with the sound of his breathing and the beat of his heart. He remembered every single part of every second, all the way from that first incredible moment of penetration up to the final exquisite moment of mutual release.

  He pressed his fingertips against the throbbing sensation in his temples. Trouble was, letting go wasn't that easy or that simple. Nick still loved Al, but it wasn't just the letting go. It wasn't even hurt pride, a broken heart, or plain, old-fashioned disappointment. It was the gut-wrenching, soul-destroying pain of Al treating their longtime relationship as if it was nothing more important than a casual fling, a meaningless one-nighter that he could forget in less than a heartbeat. The same relationship Nick had put his entire heart and soul into because he'd believed it would last forever. Was he now supposed to forget all those years, all the wonderful memories, and yes, even the love he and Al had once shared? Simply sweep it all up into one big pile, stuff it into one of those big black plastic bags, then throw it out with the rest of the trash and hope it made him felt better?

  Rather than give in to his emotions, Nick turned on the cold tap full blast and slapped handfuls of icy water on his face until his skin burned with the cold. Then, grabbing a handful of tissues, he blew his nose, hard. If Al had stopped to think for even one single moment instead of allowing his unrealistic dreams of joining the prestigious Hilldale Partners' law firm to get out of hand, none of this would have happened. Al wouldn't have gone along with Missy Hilldale's suggestion he could accomplish his dreams by the two of them getting married, temporarily. Nick wouldn't have felt he had no choice but to leave their hometown and start a new life here in Vegas. And the conversation Nick had had with Trip would never have taken place.

  He turned off the cold tap and dried his hands and face on a towel. Sure, on the face of it, especially after drinking a few beers, Missy's suggestion had sounded like a real winner. All the more reason why anyone with even half a brain would have taken a step back, waited for his head to clear and checked things out--made absolute certain a partnership in Missy's father's law firm, which was the whole point of the exercise, was a guaranteed part of the package. Too bad Al hadn't done that.

  Even more importantly, since the whole thing had been Missy's idea right from the start, Al should have realized the woman hadn't come up with such a convenient plan out of the goodness of her heart, and probably not on the spur of the moment, either. Missy had had her own agenda--one with no thought or regard for Al's life or ambitions.

  As for Missy's upright, uptight father, if Al had had even the slightest idea of what that dude was about, he would have laughed in Missy's face. In fact, for a lawyer, someone trained to check every angle, dot every i and cross every t, Al had proved amazingly shortsighted and unbelievably naive.

  And it hadn't stopped there. Even when Al found out his new father-in-law wasn't the easy mark Missy had led him to believe, instead of admitting he'd been conned, he still clung tight to his dreams. However, Al's belief he could successfully lead a double life--with Missy as his wife in public, and Nick as his lover behind closed doors--had been pure madness. By then, of course, ambition to succeed professionally by becoming a partner at Hilldale was Al's number one prior
ity. He'd become so caught up with the whole tangle of lies and subterfuge he'd virtually forgotten Nick's existence.

  On the odd occasion when he did remember Nick and was able to spare him a few minutes, it was always some carefully pre-arranged meeting under the guise of business, or somewhere out of town, or even an apparently accidental encounter in some dark corner. Wherever it happened, the hurried, secretive nature of their meetings were beyond unsatisfactory. They made Nick feel as if he were doing something wrong.

  Nick had attempted to get through to Al on more occasions than he could count--tried to make Al see he was the victim of a clever con game, and that what he wanted was never going to happened. However, Al had refused to listen and with no other way he could think of to win him back, Nick had resorted to desperate measures. He'd made the ultimate sacrifice and sold The Marinated Mushroom, the restaurant Nick had worked his ass off to acquire and what Al knew damn well was Nick's pride and joy, and left town. He hadn't even bothered to give Al a heads-up, say goodbye, or even let Al know where he was headed. He'd figured such drastic action would have the same effect as a heavy duty electric shock--once Al realized Nick was gone, he'd find out where and be on the next plane.

  When that hadn't happened, Nick figured it was partly because Al probably thought he was just yanking his chain, and partly because Al had too much damn pride to admit he was wrong. Al hated giving in on anything; hence his arrogant attitude when he had finally shown up.

  A glance at his watch told Nick he would be cutting it fine if he expected to make it to work on time. Grabbing a pair of jeans and a checkered shirt, he quickly finished dressing and headed back to the kitchen. His head still full of Al and his machinations, he quickly downed half a cup of cold coffee, picked up his briefcase and left the apartment, almost forgetting to lock the door behind him.

  As he waited for the elevator, Nick decided the real root of Al's problem was that he wanted it all. He didn't seem to realize other people had needs and wants just as important as his. Then again, maybe Al knew, but didn't care. He hadn't liked it when Nick had refused to give up his new life and go back to the way things were before he came to Vegas, which was what Al wanted. He'd acted as if Nick was in the wrong, and for Nick, it had become one of those defining moments when he knew he had to make a stand. No way was he going back, eyes wide open, to that miserable half-life of sneaking around.

  Of course, Al had liked it even less when Nick had said Missy was playing him, and added that demand of his own: Either give up the double life and move down here to Vegas with me, or else...

  Or else what Nick hadn't needed to spell out.

  Anyway, instead of trying to tell Al anything, Nick knew it was time to spell out a few important facts for himself, such as getting it through his head that the past was over. He had a great life here in Vegas, and a good friend in Trip Browning. There was even a chance what he had with Trip could eventually turn into something more. He'd really like that to happen. He'd like it a lot. He also knew it might never get beyond wishful thinking, but a guy could dream.

  Outside the apartment building, Nick paused on the sidewalk and turned his face up to the warming rays of the early morning sun. It was another beautiful Vegas day. By noon, the temperature would be hitting a hundred degrees or more, but at this hour, it was still cool enough for Nick to walk the few short blocks to his job at The Neapolitan.

  The immediate future promised to be extra busy and more than a little stressful for Nick and for Trip, who also happened to be his boss. Renovations were nearing completion at Franco's, the new upscale Italian seafood restaurant named in honor of the owner, Silvia DiMarco's late husband, and opening night was just over two weeks away. Now, it was up to Nick, as managing chef in charge of the new venture, and Trip as the recently appointed vice-president of the hotel's entire food and beverage operations, to ensure everything went ahead exactly the way Silvia wanted. Knowing Silvia and her hot Latin temper, heads would roll if anything happened to spoil the gala opening bash she had her heart set on.

  A mental image of Trip's blond hair and handsome face slipped into Nick's mind. He loved spending time with Trip--at work, playing poker together. If it weren't for Al...

  Nick dragged his thoughts away from Trip and back to the day ahead. As far as Nick was concerned, subject to running a double-check on all the various supply issues, everything was coming together nicely. Silvia wanted singing waiters and, this being Vegas, he'd had no trouble finding half a dozen. He also planned to surprise her with an added attraction--a singing chef as the star of the show. Enzio Lucca, one of the sous-chefs at the restaurant Nick had owned up north, not only made the most delicious sfogliatelle, he also did fantastic Pavarotti impressions, and he'd jumped at Nick's offer of a job. Enzio had arrived in town last night and was starting work this morning. When Silvia heard his voice...

  Nick laughed out loud at what he expected would be her reaction when Enzio opened his mouth, then shook his head as a couple of pedestrians gave him curious looks and hurried across the street. Silvia would be blown away for sure.

  Instead of worrying about stuff he couldn't change, Nick was glad to be concentrating his thoughts on the here and the now. He was feeling super-excited about the new restaurant, and, once Al came to his senses, there was a chance his private life would soon be back on track.

  * * * *

  When Nick reached the unfinished space that was to be his new office, he found Trip already there, talking on the phone. He hesitated in the doorway, his fingers itching to tousle the sun-streaked blond curls as he watched the play of emotions on Trip's expressive face--the happy grin fading to a look of consternation, then a softening as he relaxed and his mouth curved in a welcoming smile. Nick allowed his mind to wander for a moment, wondering what would have happened if there had been no Al when he and Trip first met that night at the poker game. If he'd made a subtle move on Trip on the off chance of reciprocation...

  He cut himself off mid-thought before his imaginings got too far out of hand. Back then, he'd thought Trip was straight. Even now, despite a throwaway remark Trip had made the weekend Al was here, Nick still wasn't one hundred percent sure whether he was or not. Maybe he'd imagined the innuendo in the remark and misinterpreted the look that accompanied it.

  Trip had said something about not wanting Nick to give up his job here at The Neapolitan and go back up north. Nick remembered joking that if he did give in to Al's request, it would mess with Trip's staffing arrangements. When Trip replied, he hadn't given a reason, he'd merely said a potential staffing problem wasn't it.

  So what was his reason? Their relationship? There was nothing else. Maybe Trip wanted them to be more than friends. Although if he did, why hadn't he said something, made a move, a gesture, anything that would have made his intentions clear?

  Frustrated by his thoughts, Nick glanced over at Trip, who was still absorbed in his phone conversation. He only had to look at Trip to know that if Trip had made a move, he would have welcomed it. Whether he would have done anything about it with Al still in the picture was difficult to say.

  Of course, there was a real good possibility, regardless of Trip's sexual preference, he wasn't attracted to Nick in that way.

  In the few short months Nick had lived in Vegas, Trip had become an important part of Nick's life. He appreciated having Trip as a confidant, but, much as he wanted to know whether Trip was gay or straight, he wasn't about to risk screwing up what they had with inappropriate questions or clumsy attempts aimed at finding out. Nick wondered idly if Trip had a private life he kept securely under wraps. Or maybe he was one of those men who wasn't interested in sex.

  Trip suddenly looked up, smiling in a way that gave Nick an unexpected, but delicious feeling of warmth as Trip beckoned him forward. For sure, Trip liked him, and he liked Trip--maybe a little too much, bearing in mind he didn't have a clue if it could ever be anything more.

  "Sure, Silvia. Absolutely. I'll tell Nick. Opening night guest list is
now one hundred fifty, and instead of the set meal, you want a seafood buffet instead. Cioppino? Oh, right, you mean that fancy Italian fish stew. And you want to have crab as the principal ingredient. I'm sure Nick'll be more than happy to do that. Okay, and I've made a note, no tiramisu unless it's an authentic recipe, but preferably something else.

  "Right! Primo everything all the way. There's not to be anything that's been made elsewhere and frozen; no shortcuts with the ingredients or with any of the dishes. And Calabrese country-style bread from your friend's brother's bakery to go with the cioppino. Yes, ma'am. Whatever you say."

  Trip put down the phone, swiped his fist across his forehead, and murmured, "Phew! I think we've created a monster."

  Nick grinned. "You talking about Silvia? No way...that woman's a pussycat."

  "Not since I told her she could have whatever she wants for the opening she's not. I think I've released her inner demons."

  "Nah. Silvia's a lovely lady. You just need to understand where she's coming from."

  "Where's that? Dictator school?"

  "No, Trip. Give poor Silvia a break. She and her late husband came here from the old country--man work; woman stay home. That's the way it was. Now, she needs to prove herself."

  Trip started ticking off items on his list. "By changing her mind every two minutes?"

  "No, by showing the world she can do just as good a job as Frank did when he was running The Neapolitan. When he was alive, all she got to do was to take care of the house, dust the furniture and cook dinner."

  "She tell you that?"

  Nick shrugged. "She didn't have to. My family's all from the old country, too--a mixture of Irish and Italian, and my mom and my aunts always stayed home. I figure Silvia did the same thing."