"You'll tease me, but it's just too important to me. I've put too much of who I am into it."

Lady Helena scoffed. "Too much of who you are? My, you are vain—besides you aren't even in the painting. It's just that admittedly striking wolf pup and the most chiseled, intriguingly handsome young Greek god that I have ever beheld. Why, I do believe with those steely blue eyes and those golden locks, no man can be more beguiling."

"Yes," Sage admitted, "Mr. Gray is the most astounding man and quite difficult to look away from."

"Mr. Gray? Wait, you mean there is an actual living person who looks this good and I haven't met him? Where have you been hiding him, you naughty girl?"

Sage rolled her eyes. "I haven't been hiding him. I was just enjoying spending time with a new friend and didn't want him exposed to the terrible social scene that we have here so soon."

Lady Helena placed a bejeweled hand innocently over her ample chest. "My dear, I am a happily married woman you know, he has nothing to fear from the likes of me! Although, fear can be an important sign that you are doing the right thing. It is far more fun to do something, than to be constantly afraid of it. To not do something because of fear is really just a deception of self."

She paused to examine the expensive ring on her finger. "That is the beauty in being married, the necessity for deception by both spouses. Why, my Lord Husband has no clue what I am doing right now or where I will be later this evening, and it takes at least a few probing questions for me to discover his whereabouts—were I so inclined. But we do so often see each other at a Gala or fundraiser and the occasional dinner, of course. Now I am rambling, tell me about this astonishing young man that you have been keeping all for yourself."

Sage sat down next to Lady Helena, excited to relate the tale of her first encounter with the intriguing man in the painting and unable to resist her conspirators tone.

"It was three months ago at a crowded gallery opening across town. I was having some of my minor works from my Realism period exhibited and was required to make an appearance. I was bored to tears after ten minutes of trying to follow the tedious conversation and limp Hors d'oeuvres. Then I felt someone's eyes on me from across the room. You know that itchy, ghosts-on-your-neck feeling? I looked to the side and saw him standing there, just looking at me. Oh how I must have made a fool of myself. When our eyes met I stopped breathing and I was terrified. I felt like my whole soul was drained and taken in at that one look from him. His face was art itself, with a jaw hewn from mythology. His figure was a bronze statue of perfection, and an aura of charisma glowed off of him. It felt like my life was fated to that one moment, that one meeting."

Sage began picking nervously at the stich work of the sofa. "I was petrified and tried to turn to leave. Then he started walking towards me, with that boyish grin on his face and my feet became frozen in place, as if by an icy glacier. He approached confidently, introduced himself with a courtly bow, and said that he had been waiting all evening just to meet me. Me of all people! He went on to say that my art had inspired him. We talked for hours about art and the various compositions that were on display. He always had a warm smile on his lips and laughed so easily. We had an immediate connection and were friends at once. That was the first time I met Dorian Gray."

Lady Helena cocked her head to the side in a distinctively bird-like expression and gave her a calculating look. "Tell me more about this Mr. Gray. How often do you see him?"

"Nearly every day! It makes me so happy to see him and he sits for my painting for hours."

"Why Sage, I thought only your art brought you happiness?"

"He is like art, and our time together fills me with more inspiration than I have ever felt before. All of my work is suddenly electrifying!"

"Tell me, is he very fond of you?"

Sage considered this question for a few moments. "He likes me. I know he likes me. I do compliment him too much and find myself telling him things I have never told anyone—which he must find tedious. We sit and talk of everything and he is very charming towards me, although he does tend to say thoughtless and hurtful things quite carelessly. But I am sure he doesn't mean any of them. I feel like I've opened my whole self to him, but I am nothing more than a curiosity or artistic indulgence in return, like a decoration which suits his vanity."

"Don't worry my dear, an artistic genius with your talents will soon find inspiration elsewhere. I am sure you will expeditiously tire of the whole thing long before he does. Men are fickle creatures and are too easily distracted by the next shiny bauble, or whatever curvaceous set of hips walks in front of them next. You mustn't let him think you are too interested, or he will mistreat you. Try ignoring him a little, or being cold to him the next time you meet. That always does wonders for romance. If you go in for that sort of thing. Maybe I can help."

"I don't want you to meet him."

"Why ever not?"

"Dorian is my dearest friend. He is kind and has a pure soul and a simple nature. You'll try to influence him or spoil him somehow. This is the one person who adds more to my art then I could ever explain and I couldn't stand to lose him."

Suddenly there was a ring at the door, followed by the elderly butler entering and announcing, "Mr. Dorian Gray has arrived to see you, my lady."