Sour Grapes (The Blue Plate Series) Read Online Free

her request for someone to fetch their limo driver—but Sullivan Grace spots us immediately. “Margaret, dear, the fundraiser was fabulous,” she says, her South Carolina accent thicker than usual. “The most fun I’ve had in ages.”
    If only my mother could offer such praise.
    Sullivan Grace attempts to kiss my cheeks but ends up landing on the corners of my mouth. Her hands are decorated with henna tattoos and the smell of incense surrounds her. She turns to Nick, swaying a bit, and embraces him in a hug, something I’ve never seen her do with him.
    “Hello, Ms. Hasell,” Nick says, grinning, clearly amused at her level of intoxication.
    “Sweetheart, how many times do I have to tell you to call me by my first name? I’m practically your mother-in-law,” she says. “Jackson will be thrilled to hear we bumped into each other.” She’s referring to Jack Turner, her “gentleman friend” who happens to be Lillie’s father. He owns Turner’s Greasy Spoons, a diner across town, which for some reason people think is delicious, though Lillie’s the one managing it now.
    “He didn’t join you this evening?” Nick asks.
    Sullivan Grace laughs. “Don’t be foolish. You know Jackson wouldn’t attend one of these events if it were free and the entire Texas Rangers roster was invited. But enough about that,” she continues. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to the airport? Paris in late summertime. Absolutely spectacular! I can’t imagine a more romantic honeymoon.”
    At first I’m certain I misheard her, but then I glance at Nick’s ring finger. There, shining under the jewel-toned lights illuminating the entrance, is a simple platinum band. Icy talons grip my chest. I finally understand why he appears so content and utterly unaffected by my presence. I look at Nick, and once again his eyes are full of pity and a tenderness that makes me want to throttle him.
    The resentment of the past several months bubbles up inside me and I blurt out, “You married her,” interrupting Sullivan Grace, who’s been droning on about the Louvre and the view from the Eiffel Tower. My voice sounds strange, mechanical, like the rotor spinning in my Rolex watch.
    Sullivan Grace stands there with her mouth hanging open, as if my history with Nick has escaped her memory, while Nick says softly but with conviction, “I did.”
    In that moment I hate him.
    Before Nick can say anything more, I abruptly turn around and rush back into the gala. It’s only as I’m stepping inside the atrium that I realize a small part of me has been clinging to one last ounce of hope that he’d change his mind, recognize that we could be something special. I guess that’s the difference between logically knowing something and deep down believing it, because while I know Nick’s fully, irrecoverably committed to Lillie, in my heart of hearts, I still can’t believe he picked her over me.
----
    I need a change.
    That’s the only thought I have the next morning as I enter the restaurant Villa-O. A blast of air-conditioning envelops me. Its cerulean blue walls and Mediterranean nautical decor remind me of the semester I studied abroad in Greece before my junior year at Southern Methodist University. The place is buzzing with the typical brunch crowd of Dallas urbanites—well-groomed men who hide their hangovers behind aviators and bottomless Bloody Marys and former sorority girls turned stay-at-home wives with perfect volumized hair and decked out in designer clothes or overpriced spandex disguised as luxury sportswear that’s never absorbed an ounce of perspiration.
    All around me people play on their smartphones, texting, posting on social media sites, snapping pictures of themselves and their food. I imagine half of these idiots don’t even remember what it’s like to have real-life relationships anymore.
    Yet here I am, right alongside them, week in and week out. Perhaps this is the first habit I’ll change.
    Or maybe I need a break from