The sun’s golden rays gleam in my eye, and I lazily cover them with my arm. The faint lap of the ocean on the shore eases my mind, almost making me forget about the situation I am currently in (being married to Edward—the most dreadful thing that has ever happened to me). The wind plays with the skirt of my bathing costume, making it twirl in the air as if it were slow dancing. It also tangles itself in my hair, knotting my brown curls into an even greater mess.

I didn’t sleep much last night; my restless mind wouldn’t allow it. I kept thinking about how I would have to spend the rest of my life with Edward, surrounded by his children. And while I don’t mind the part about having children, I certainly mind the part where I can’t be married to the true love of my life—Margaret. The thought gnawed at me all night, and when I finally managed to close my weary eyes and allow sleep to take over, it was already past three in the morning. Edward woke me just two and a half hours later, at half past five, so that we might watch the heavenly sunrise on the beach. Long story short: hardly any sleep at all.

I looked at myself in the vanity mirror that morning and saw how dark the undersides of my eyes looked, how puffy they were, as though I had been crying over something tragic.

“Florence, are you all right, love? You look awfully tired,” Edward had said, his eyebrows knitting in concern. “We could always go look at the sunrise another day. You look like you need to rest.”

“No,” I replied, rubbing my eyes and stifling a yawn. “It’s quite all right. I’m tired, but I’m awake and excited enough to watch the sunrise. And who knows? Perhaps all the other days of the week will be dreary—this may be our only chance.”

“All right,” Edward sighed, relenting after a moment’s hesitation.

I had put on my large straw sunhat, the one with the white ribbon, and my navy-blue bathing costume. It resembled a dress, only with short sleeves and a skirt that fell just above the knees—far shorter than any ordinary frock. Edward had worn his matching striped shirt and bathing drawers, in red and white. He looked like a peppermint stick, and when I remarked upon it, he laughed and said I looked like the female version of a sailor.

We had gathered our belongings—two towels, a picnic basket, sun lotion, an umbrella, and a book for each of us—and set off. The beach is located just behind the house, a mere five-minute walk from the back door. When we arrived, it was nearly empty, save for a family lounging far to the left, no more than specks in the distance.

We laid out our towels and planted the umbrella into the white, grainy sand, settling down to watch the sun emerge from the sea. The sun casts golden rays onto the calm water, tinting the deep blue with strokes of orange. Gradually, the sky shifts—from dusky blue to pale blue, with the orange part of the horizon seeming to kiss the ocean. Between the layers of blue and orange stretches a pale pink, forming a subdued gradient.

I glance at Edward. The orange light bathes his complexion, casting warm shadows across his face and softening his eyes into a kind amber. It also catches in his hair, making it appear auburn.

“You look rather handsome, Edward,” I tell him, and he smiles his charming crooked smile, his white teeth gleaming.

“Why, thank you. You look beautiful, too. The sun catches your eyes and makes them a lovely blue-grey, and it lights up your hair as well—your curls look positively russet.”

Though I’m not attracted to him, I blush nonetheless, flattered. “Thank you,” I reply, biting my lip.

“No, don’t do that to your lips, love,” Edward says gently, placing a finger on my lower lip to ease it from between my teeth.

His eyes lock with mine, and he slowly lowers his head to meet mine, his breath warm against my cheek. After a few moments of quiet anticipation, his lips brush against mine in a kiss as soft and tentative as a butterfly’s wings. I feel my stomach drop, but despite my aversion, I return the kiss—slowly, lazily, as if there were no need to rush—and brush my nose against his. The kiss deepens, still tender but more certain. I pull away first, as I usually do, and rest my head on his shoulder, heavy with tiredness. He wraps his arm around my waist, guiding me closer while still allowing me my comfort. Our bodies press together, our warmth intermingling in an endless cycle.

From that moment until now, we’ve sat in silence, admiring the beauty of the sun as it graciously rises from the depths of the sea. The orange hue fades gradually into blue, which lightens until it becomes the pale sky-blue humans are so accustomed to during the day.

And now here I lie, stretched out on my towel, my arm shielding my eyes from the sun’s harsh rays.

A rustle of paper sounds, and I lift my arm to peer at Edward, who is now reading the morning newspaper—The Heritage Press.

I cover my eyes once more and let my thoughts drift to last summer, when Margaret and I took our retreat to the seaside.

It had been just the two of us, as Edward couldn’t attend due to a court hearing scheduled for the same week. Margaret took his place, and we set off together.

It had been a fine week; we stayed at a little seaside cottage in Glashampton, which was closer than Eastbourne but not quite as lovely. Still, we made the most of it.

We went to the beach every day, the weather obliging with unbroken sunshine. I remember how sweltering it was—just when we thought we could relax, the heat would overwhelm us. We would end up sweating and irritable, forced to leap into the sea for relief. The whole week followed that pattern: ten or fifteen minutes of sunbathing, then a mad dash into the waves.

When we were lounging, we would knit or read while chatting. For nearly the entire week, we never stopped talking. Somehow, there was always something to say or do together.

One day—Thursday, I believe—the beach was empty, or so it seemed. For all we knew, people could have been far off in the distance, but they were too far to see or be seen. I recalled how I was lying on my towel, tugging down the hem of my sunshine-yellow bathing costume, when Margaret stood up and reached for my hand, pulling me upright. It was sudden, unexpected.

“What is it?” I asked, shading my eyes with my free hand.

“Dance with me, will you?” Margaret said, gently pulling away my hand and taking it in hers. She gave me her best pleading face. Of course, I couldn’t say no. How could anyone refuse someone with such lovely green eyes and a sweet smile?

“Certainly.”

I released one of her hands and placed mine at the small of her back, guiding her gently. We swayed to the tranquil sound of the waves, their crashing forming our music. Our foreheads touched. The world faded away; it was just us, as it always was. We moved in perfect synchrony, as though we had done this a thousand times before. Our bodies pressed close, and I could hear our hearts beating in tandem, creating their own rhythm. I spun Margaret, and she twirled gracefully, the skirt of her pink bathing costume fanning out like a great carnation. She returned to me, then raised her arm—the clear signal for me to twirl. She caught me in her arms, and I leaned into her, one arm around her neck, the other raised to the sky. Our eyes locked, exchanging a thousand unspoken words—and then, as if following a script we both knew by heart, we kissed, softly–

“Look at this disgustingness!”

A voice snaps me out of my reverie, and I groan, lifting my arm from my eyes and looking at Edward. “What? I was resting.”

“Oh—sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Sometimes my mouth just has a mind of its own. But now that you're awake, why don’t you read this article and tell me what you think?”

He hands me the newspaper, and I sit up to read the headline:

HOMOSEXUALS FOUND COMMITTING ATROCIOUS ACTS AT A BAR IN EASTBOURNE

Biting my lip, I brace myself for what I know will be a hideous read.

Police raided a public house on the Upper East Side of Eastbourne known as The Velvet Prism last Saturday evening, following reports of “indecent conduct” at the establishment. Chief Constable Wallace Gray and his officers had been conducting undercover surveillance for months, attending events in plain clothes. During their visits, it was observed that numerous young women—many of whom wore wedding rings—arrived with female companions and were later seen embracing and kissing in discrete locations such as beneath the staircase or behind the coat racks. Proprietor Maurice O’Shea was arrested, along with several patrons, most of whom were married women. “The Eastbourne Constabulary continues to work diligently to preserve decency and uphold the moral fabric of society,” Chief Constable Gray told The Heritage Press.

My mouth falls open in disbelief. Indecency? What’s truly indecent is the behaviour of the police—not the innocent people simply living their lives.

Edward notices I’ve finished and prompts me, “Well? What do you think?”

I hesitate, weighing whether to tell the truth. The worst that could happen is a bitter argument—or divorce, perhaps. Still, Edward is never truly cruel, even in his foulest moods. And yet, I think, we’ve only just been married. Best not to risk too much too soon. A mixture of truth and evasion will suffice.

“Well,” I begin, “perhaps it would’ve been better if the police had let them be. They weren’t hurting anyone, were they?”

“How could you say such a thing?” Edward exclaims, his mouth now agape. “They’re deviants! Absolute scum! The worst mankind has to offer! Can you not see that? They deserve everything coming to them!”

“I understand your perspective,” I reply, trying to sound reasonable, “but I do think you’re being rather dramatic. The worst mankind has to offer are murderers and criminals, not… them.”

“Are you on their side?” Edward asks, his tone suddenly sharp, his eyes searching mine.

“Of course not. I don’t promote indecency. I simply think it’s foolish to interfere. Let them be—they’re unlikely to change.”

He gives me a hard look and lets out a heavy sigh. “They can change. But your opinion is your own, and I won’t fight you on it.”

He takes the newspaper back and turns the page, brushing away our argument like crumbs from a table. That, I think, is Edward’s way—pretend nothing happened at all.

I sigh and place my sunhat over my face, shielding myself once again from the glaring light.

Just have to get used to it.