whambough

“May I lift you, Mr. brideboy?” Scarlett grinned, showing her perfect teeth, a spark of irony in her lively blue eyes. According to the wedding tradition, it must be one of the bridesmaids to carry the man down the aisle. They call her the ‘bridebearer’. A reminder of the ancient times, when the men were forcibly abducted by the women who wanted to marry them. I was the bride, of course. The brideboy. I knew that in some modern and more open-minded families men were allowed to be labeled as ‘grooms’ on the day of their wedding. But my family was very conservative, and neglecting the old ways and the formal etiquette was not an option. I shrugged, raising my naked shoulders. “I don’t know, Scarlett,” I said. “I mean, of course you may lift me, that’s your duty, but… Are you sure you can do that? I’m not that light, you know… I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Scarlett folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. She was one of Allyson’s nieces. She had just turned eighteen: the