The Debutante Divorcee by Plum Sykes Read Free Book Online Page A

it’s chillier than usual and warns them, “Don’t go out. It’s cold.” Naturally, they feel like they’d die of frostbite, or rickets, without him.
    It was no coincidence that the day after Hunter left for his long trip to Paris, a spectacularly elegant parcel arrived at our apartment early in the morning. It was wrapped in glossy black paper and had a white grosgrain bow tied around it with geometrical precision. I tore the envelope on the top open. Inside was a thick white card with gold edging and the name Milton Holmes engraved in orange across the top. Written in beautiful sepia ink were the words,
    Dearest Sylvie,
    A little piece of Paris for One Fifth Avenue.
    Adored meeting you. I’ll be over at six to see you.
    Hugs, Milton
    Over at six? How did Milton know where I lived? Maybe Lauren had told him. But what did he want?
    I unwrapped the package between sips of espresso. Inside was an Assouline book entitled Paris Living Rooms . Several pages were marked with powder blue Post-it notes. I opened the book to one of them. The page showed a huge, white paneled drawing room filled with antique white chairs, tables, Deco glass lamps, and vases filled with lilacs. Underneath the photograph the text read, “Ines de la Fressange, fashion designer, Elysée district.” On the Post-it, Milton had scribbled, “I like the wide herringbone flooring.”
    I was fully aware that I was being professionally stalked for an interior decorating job. Before we had moved to New York, we had found this charming, fairly large, and very old-fashioned apartment on the fifth floor at One Fifth Avenue, a 1920s building. Our apartment looked over Washington Square Park, and even though it was still only half-decorated, I loved it. Milton would be expecting me to be vulnerable to his charms now that Hunter was out of town. But, I reminded myself, I wasn’t the kind of girl who went out and hired a decorator. I’d never had that kind of money in the past, and even if we did now, that didn’t change things as far as I was concerned. I did things myself. I often think that girls in New York generally don’t do enough things for themselves, and I wasn’t interested in that kind of life. This is twenty-first-century New York, not eighteenth-century Florence, though manywomen here seem blissfully unaware of that fact. Apparently there are still girls on the Upper East Side who don’t even brush their own hair.
    I had no idea when I’d have time to finish doing up our place, but I’d figure something out. I had weekends, and now that Hunter was away, I definitely had fewer distractions. Still, I realized as I walked from the hall out into the drawing room, we had a lot of space to make beautiful. I had to admit to myself that it was intimidating.
    Just then the phone rang. It was Milton.
    “Are you obsessed with the book?” he said perkily.
    “Milton, I loved it—”
    “—could you just move the chaise, maybe…six and a half inches to the right? No, a little more, yes, a smidgeola toward the terrace…that’s it. Stop! Sto-o-op!!!” he howled. “Sorry, I’m on site.”
    “Shall I call you back?” I asked.
    “I’m always on site. Anyway,” Milton asked, “do I get the job?”
    “I’m sure you don’t have time,” I said, trying to put him off politely.
    “How are you ever going to do that place alone?” said Milton. “It’s huge, and you won’t be able to get a yard of decent fabric unless I take you to the D&D building. Are you awfully lonely without Hunter—”
    “He calls all the time,” I said.
    He did. Hunter had only been gone twenty-four hours, but he’d called from JFK and from Charles deGaulle, and he even left a sweet love-you-miss-you message in the early hours this morning on my cell. I couldn’t have wished for a more attentive husband.
    “Anyway, I’m coming for coffee later. There’s nothing you can do. See you at six.”
    With that, he put the phone down. What was I doing at six o’clock