Fifty Shades of Dorian Gray Read Free

circle of dreadful young men she was positive contained my future husband—and you know I’d really rather die than end up a wife to any of those bores. She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to act as matchmaker. I was writhing to get out when I found myself face-to-face with Dorian Gray. We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again. It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so reckless, after all. It was simply inevitable. We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure of that. Dorian told me so afterward. He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other.”
    Helen nodded with interest—these were clearly the details she’d been waiting for Rosemary to divulge. “And how did Lady Brandon introduce this wonderful young man?”
    â€œOh, she bumbled something like, ‘Charming boy— poor dear mother and I absolutely inseparable. Quite forgot what he does—afraid he doesn’t do anything—or, yes, plays the piano—or is it the violin, dear Mr. Gray?’ Neither of us could help laughing, and we became friends at once.”
    â€œLaughter is not at all a bad beginning for a romance, and it is by far the best ending for one,” said Helen, who now seemed content to pass the rest of the day in the garden, gabbing about Dorian Gray. The same could be said for Rosemary, but she worried that as she had with the painting, she was putting too much of herself into this conversation. No subject, no matter how provocative, ever transcended idle chatter for Helen, and while she was evidently fascinated by Rosemary’s new friend, they could just as easily be talking about actors in a play. For Rosemary, there was much more at stake. To talk of him only magnified his importance to her, and that was a dangerous undertaking.
    â€œI wish you’d stop referring to it as a romance,” said Rosemary, who was now tired of sitting in the sun and said so. She declared that they go back into the studio, stood up before Helen could voice her opinion, and went inside.
    â€œAre you upset with me?” asked Helen, as she joined Rosemary on the divan.
    â€œNo, I’m just tired,” said Rosemary. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”
    â€œYou do know that I consider you like a sister, Rosemary—one I can tolerate unlike my true sisters. You can always talk to me about what’s distressing you.”
    â€œI see Dorian every day,” began Rosemary.
    â€œWell, it is an especially giant canvas,” said Helen, elbowing Rosemary’s thigh in jocularity. “I’m enveloped in its great shade!”
    â€œNo,” said Rosemary with a laugh. “I mean I see him daily in the flesh. He sits for me every afternoon—has been for months.”
    â€œThat seems appropriate,” said Helen “You must immerse yourself in the work and not let a day go by.”
    â€œYes, but it’s more than that. He makes me happy, Helen. I’m not happy until I see him, and I’m in agony as soon as he leaves. Even now, knowing I will see him soon, my heart is racing with suspense. I need him. I can’t live without him.”
    â€œHow extraordinary!” said Helen, embracing Rosemary as if to congratulate her. “I thought you would never care for anything but your art.”
    â€œHe is all my art to me now,” said Rosemary, her eyes welling. “What oil painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinous to late-Greek sculpture—that is what Dorian Gray is to me. It is not merely that I paint from him, draw from him, sketch from him. He’s my inspiration. You remember that landscape of mine, for which I was offered such a huge price but which I would not part with? It is one of the best things I have ever done because Dorian was sitting beside me while I painted it,