I stroll down the length of the aisle, strewn with rosy-colored flower petals askew everywhere. My dress’s long train, embroidered with gossamer flowers, drags through the petals, leaving a gaping spot where they used to be.

Looking up through my veil, I catch sight of Edward in his mauve button-down and tie, which is covered by a warm-toned, medium-gray jacket and finished off with polished, black shoes.

Peering back down at the petite bouquet in my hands, I examine the luscious purple and pink hyacinths standing out among the pastel tulips. I’ve been dreading this day for a long time; I’ve never been interested in men. I only have eyes for women. But alas! Our society looks down upon homosexuality, and being found out as a homosexual could result in many harsh punishments, most commonly a torturous stay in prison for a few years.  Or, perhaps, someone will take matters into their own hands and kill the homosexual. I shudder at this thought, then quickly glance around me to make sure nobody notices. Doesn’t appear that anyone did.

I make it up to the altar where Edward stands, along with the priest standing slightly behind us. His hazel eyes shyly meet mine, and he smiles softly at me. I make my best attempt to return the smile, but can’t seem to do it. I turn my head over my right shoulder and look at Margaret dead in the eyes. She returns the pained look. Suppressing a sigh, I imagine myself here with Margaret instead of Edward, about to have the priest say the opening prayer and have him exchange our vows. Oh, how I long to be with Margaret instead. And she would also rather be with me. I can see the grief in her eyes. Though nobody has died, this feels like a nail in the coffin for her. Now that I am officially with Edward, we can no longer be. Oh, how it makes my heart ache. 

We’ve loved each other since our childhood days. Our families have been friends for multiple generations, thus naturally making us friends. We grew up together, did absolutely everything together, and eventually, in our early teenage years, we realized the deeper bond we had. We finally pinned it down as love, but we couldn’t tell anyone of such a hideous truth, for we would be severely punished. Nonetheless, we swore to always be there for each other and to help one another, no matter what.

“Florence?”

I snap my head quickly to meet Edward’s worried stare. “Are you alright, love?”

“Oh but of course,” I answer. “Just a bit nervous.”

“Me too.”

The church grows quiet, and the priest clears his throat.

"Dear Heavenly Father, as we gather here today to celebrate the union of Florence Bennett and Edward Phillips, we invite Your divine presence into this ceremony. Bless this marriage with Your wisdom, love, and grace. May Florence and Edward be a shining example of a love rooted in You, one that withstands all trials. We pray for a lifetime of joy, companionship, and unwavering commitment. In Jesus’ name, Amen."

The priest then proceeds to read from the Bible, but I pay no attention. Instead, I go back to thinking about getting married to Margaret. I can imagine her, standing in Edward’s place, a veil covering her face adorned with intricate designs of flowers and pearls, a long-sleeved dress with a flowing skirt and train made of lace and silk, covering her curvaceous figure. I can picture her smiling her beautiful, pearly-white smile at me, the gleam in her green eyes, full of delight with the idea of us being married, her alluring red waves pulled into an elegant half-up-half-down updo embellished with baby’s breath flowers, the ones that go in rose bouquets.

“...Now it is time for the vows.”

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union of Florence Bennett and Edward Phillips in holy matrimony.

“Now repeat after me, Edward: I, Edward Phillips, take you, Florence Bennett, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

He recites the words, swelling up with emotion, and once he is done, it is my turn.

“Florence, repeat after me: I, Florence Bennett, take you, Edward Phillips, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

I repeat the lines, but unlike Edward, I do not have any hint of emotion in my words. Instead, I have this horrible feeling of heaviness in my chest, as if this marriage will be the end of my freedom, my happiness, the end of me.

Edward leans in for a kiss, and I close my eyes, closing the distance between us. I imagine I’m kissing Margaret instead of him, and for a moment my delusions get the better of me, but when I open my eyes, I’m met with Edward standing there, studying me, and a plunging feeling of disappointment causes my stomach to drop. I have to deal with this for the rest of my life, or until Edward passes, which won’t be anytime soon. Oh, what a horrid thought.

Afterward, we exchange rings. The one I give Edward is a simple gold band, but on the inside, our initials are both imprinted: EP and FB. The one handed to me is a rather beautiful golden ring, I must admit. Complex designs resembling lace bejewel the band, and in the center is a love knot dotted with minute emeralds. 

Then, the priest offers his blessings, and it’s the end of his speech. But before we can have our wedding brunch, he hands Edward a piece of paper and a pen to sign the register, which signifies that our union is official, and the paper gets handed over to me, which I sign reluctantly.

Finally, it’s time for our wedding breakfast, which I’m rather excited about, all things being considered, because I get the chance to talk to Margaret for a while before it’s time to go home by carriage.

❁❁❁❁

I manage to get Margaret to sit next to me during the breakfast because she is my maid of honor. Our wedding is rather quaint, with fewer than fifty people, so we have one long table designated for breakfast. The table is adorned with a white lace tablecloth and sweet-smelling white rose flower arrangements, the roses resembling purity and new beginnings. Each person has a china set and silverware placed in front of them, the plates and cups decorated with pink roses and medium green leaves, gold encircling the rim, and the silverware with winding designs of flowers and vines.

For our first course, we’re served a light chicken consommé with julienned vegetables: essentially a variety of vegetables cut to the size of match sticks to garnish food. Then, for the second course, the servers present us some chilled oysters and lobster. While these are both often considered a delicacy in our society, Edward comes from a well-off family, thus allowing us to have such a lavish wedding, which few are subject to have in their lifetime.

Finally comes our main course: a choice of either roast beef or rabbit, accompanied by some mustard and maple caramelized carrots. The sweet scent of the caramelized carrots paired with the savory smell of meat and the spicy smell of the Dijon mustard makes my stomach grumble, though we’ve already had two filling courses prior.

“What are you two doing for your honeymoon?” wonders Margaret, picking at the food on her plate.

“We’re heading over to Eastbourne to stay a week by the beach. Edward has some friends over there who have been kind enough to lend their house to us for the duration of our stay, then we’re headed to Dawsbury for another week to enjoy the countryside and reconnect with nature,” I reply, popping a piece of roast beef in my mouth. The slight saltiness of it with a quick putting of mustard makes the flavors dance on my tongue.

“Isn’t Eastbourne far?”

“I suppose, but we haven’t been to the beach together, and I long to go there once more.”

“Mmm,” Margaret responds, still picking at the food on her plate. She hasn’t eaten much of anything today, I’ve noticed.

“Are you okay?” I question, knitting my brows.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Margaret inquires, avoiding my worried gaze.

“You’ve barely eaten anything today.”

“Oh, no, I just don’t have much of an appetite today for some reason. Forgive me.”

She returns to her food, this time taking a bite out of her rabbit. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m married now that’s gotten her so blue.

My mind takes me back to the time when I told Margaret I’d gotten engaged to Edward. 

We were at her house. Though she still lived with her parents because she was unmarried, only the two of us were home. There sat the both of us, in the soft, but sturdy, beige living room armchairs. Margaret was crocheting a doll, for she had a small business selling toys to little girls. Meanwhile, I was reading Emma by Jane Austen, or at least pretending to. I was talking to Margaret more than I was reading.

“Margaret, there’s something I must tell you,” I say, examining my cuticles.

She eyes me, looking up from her crochet. “What is it? Is it bad?”

“Well…yes, though in theory, it should be a great thing. I’ve gotten engaged to Edward.”

She freezes, mid-stitch, and her jaw drops, making her face an oval rather than the cute, rosy, circular shape it was. She looks at me as if she wants to ask if I’m joking, but she can’t seem to get the words out. So, I help her out by nodding my head, yes, confirming the news.

At first, she just sat like that, and I began to worry that she had gone into shock, but after a few moments, a sob escaped her mouth.

“Oh, Margaret,” I breathe, going over and hugging her, trying to console her, but of course, it’s of no use. I pick her up, dropping her crochet stuff, bring her to my armchair, and have her sit on my lap. She buries her face in my chest, bawling her eyes out and creating wet blotches on my dress, but I couldn’t care less about the dress. I only cared about her, and her feelings. I knew breaking the news to her would crack her heart, but it had to happen, and I figured telling her sooner rather than later would be best. 

Stroking her hair, I reassure her: “This isn’t the end for us, love.”

“I-it can-n’t be! We have to find a way!” she wails.

“Margaret, look at me.”

She pulled her head from my chest, revealing her splotchy complexion, her trembling chin, and the puffiness in her sad-looking green eyes. “This is not the end of us. We can still spend time together. It will be slightly more complicated and will happen less often, but we still have opportunities to see each other, love.” 

I kiss her eyes, willing the tears to go away, and slowly, after a few minutes, they do. 

We both sit there, eyes boring into each other, green on gray, sadness on sadness. 

Finally, Margaret sighs, her sweet breath tickling my nose. “Well, I suppose you’re right. But I’ve always pictured us getting married, not you to some man you don’t even love. How terrible our society is! If only people were more accepting of people like us, our lives would go much more smoothly.”

“I understand, darling. I’ve only ever yearned for you. You’re the one who gives me the butterflies in my stomach, the one who makes my heart race and swell with love, the one who strengthens my desire to live life, especially to live with you right by my side. Nothing will ever change the amount of love my heart holds for you. If anything, the love will only grow stronger, Margaret. I love you, but no amount of “I-love-yous” will be enough to describe the love I have for you.”

A sweet smile forms on Margaret’s face. I lean in to kiss her, and our mouths fit together, melting into a flurry of kisses. Nothing can separate us, or diminish the amount of love we have for each other.

I open my eyes, and I am taken back to the wedding, and notice that the cake is now being served. Looking over, I spot Edward cutting the cake, his tongue sticking out in concentration.

“Hey! Why didn’t you call me to help you cut the cake? We’re meant to cut it together.”

Edward looks up at me and smiles his crooked grin, letting out a soft chuckle. It’s one of the very few things I find charming in him, from a homosexual standpoint. “But you were sleeping, Florence! I figured waking up so early for the wedding has left you quite tired.”

“Oh, I suppose,” I concede, crossing my arms in mock anger. Edward’s soft chuckle turns into a brief, loud burst of laughter. If I have to go through this, I should at least act well enough to cover up my true thoughts and desires.

The cake is served for everyone: a fruit tart topped with fresh blueberries, strawberries, kiwi, and raspberries; for weddings, fruit tarts are the tradition here in Bashayle. 

I take a small bite of my perfectly-cut slice of the fresh fruit tart, and I relish the sweetness of the custard and the baked crust, the way the blueberries are slightly tart, cutting out the sweetness, so the mouthful of tart is just the right amount of sweet; it makes for an amazing cake. Glancing over at Margaret, I see she’s only taken a few bites of her cake and is now sitting, staring into nothingness.

“If you all will excuse me, I think my outfit’s gotten a bit messed up, so Margaret will come with me to help fix it. Follow me, Margaret.”

She snaps out of her trance, and eyes me, her mouth gaping. “I-uh, yes, of course.”

Dragging her chair across the floor, she stands up and follows me to the bathroom.

“What is it?” Margaret questions as I lock the door behind me. Looking at her up close, I can see the puffiness in her eyes, making it look like she’s gone nights without any sleep.

“Margaret, I am quite worried about you. You claim to be fine, that everything is normal, but we both know you really aren’t. No matter how hard you try to hide it, I can see through this facade you’re putting up. Tell me, what troubles you? Is it the whole marriage situation?”

“Well…yes. I don’t like that you’re married to him now. What if you truly fall in love with him and forget about me?” Her voice cracks, and she folds her arms across her chest, examining her ivory leather lace-up boots.

“Margaret,” I breathe, gingerly tilting her face up with my fingers. Her eyes lock on mine, and I notice that they glisten. She’s holding her tears back. “Love, I will never forget about you. How could I? You’re my sun peeking through the clouds, my light side of the moon, my everything. Like I’ve said a million times before, I only have eyes for you. Always have, always will.”

I wrap my arms around her waist and kiss her gently on the lips. “I love you, always and forever.”

She returns the kiss but with urgency. “I love you, too. Please don’t forget about me.”

“Never, love.”