The Secret Wedding

“Will you marry me, Sandy? Please say you will and make me the happiest man on Earth.” Michael dropped awkwardly to one knee and fixed a pleading look on his face. He had planned his proposal with the care of a general orchestrating a campaign: the romantic dinner at a four-star restaurant, champagne, and the orchid lei resting on his beloved’s dress. He’d encouraged her to choose any dish that intrigued her and listened to her attentively throughout the meal. His careful study of romance novels, Jane Austen, and TV serials like “The Bachelorette” would ensure a positive outcome, he was sure. People placed so much importance on such rituals, as if saying a formula properly was a meaningful action. But he couldn’t hold his position much longer; his old football injury began to protest, threatening to break the spell of the moment. Frozen in an entreating tableau, Michael held his breath.

Sandra’s breath hitched, her mouth falling open. A blush crept up her neck into her cheeks as the guests at other tables focused on her in the abrupt silence. She whispered, “What are you doing, Mike?”

His answer was to hold up the shimmering engagement ring, make two small circles in the air with it, and lunge for her left hand.

She pulled back and covered her mouth with her right hand while the pupils of her eyes contracted to pinpoints.  An eternity passed before she responded… with soft “Yes. What took you so long?” Giving a shaky smile to the applauding onlookers, she kneeled and gave her new fiancé a gentle kiss. Tears smudged her mascara as Michael slid the diamond onto her ring finger. He breathed a sigh of relief as it fit perfectly on the cold digit.

They helped each other to their feet and took their seats. Clasping his right hand in her left on the table, he signaled to the waiter with his other hand to bring the bill, saying, “Let’s go home and celebrate, honey.” She blotted her eyes with a tissue and nodded. Diners at the neighboring tables raised their drinks and smiled their approval of the loving couple, who hurried out of the restaurant as if burning with desire.

Sandy waited until they were in the car to hiss, “Mike, how could you? A wedding? Twenty thousand dollars, two hundred guests, a wedding gown, the reception, a church? It’s impossible! We’ll never pull something like that off.” She shrugged out of her heavy winter coat and turned on the car’s air conditioning.

“Don’t worry! I have a plan. We’ll go on vacation out West and marry in Vegas ‘on impulse’. That way we avoid the hassle. We’ll tell our friends to save their gifts for the inevitable baby shower. We don’t have parents, brothers, or sisters to consider, so this will work out perfectly, you’ll see.” Michael stopped at a red light and turned to give her a confident smile.

“You and your plans! I thought we were partners, but you never discussed this with me. You know I hate surprises.” Sandra pounded her leg with a fist to underscore her frustration.

“I knew you’d agree if I proposed in a public place,” he said. “You played your part beautifully, so they saw what they wanted to see. Marriage is an important part of our cover story, and people have been commenting that it’s high time we tied the knot. Now we have a romantic tale to tell our friends about the proposal. They are the ones who will be surprised.”

“Okay, I guess you’re right. I’ve heard a lot of hints lately, but I wish people would mind their own business. Does this mean we have to throw an engagement party?”

“Sandy, I don’t want to go through that. Remember Miranda’s engagement party? It was torture because I was so afraid I’d say or do the wrong thing. I can’t afford any blunders.”

“And I almost blew it when I asked her whether she was ready to have children. Stupid!” She grimaced at her faux pas.

“We’ll say we won’t have time for a party because we’re getting ready for our vacation two weeks from now.”

“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” Sandra said. "But the timing is optimal—right before everything changes.”

“I knew you’d see it that way. We’ve had a good life together, and this marriage will put people’s minds at ease. They’ll call it a good surprise.”

She drummed her fingers on her knee for a moment and said, “You know my pale blue dress? It’ll be perfect for a Vegas wedding. And you can wear your navy suit. We’ll take a picture at the chapel to show everyone.”

Michael grinned. “Now you’re talking! But it’s all a secret, right?”

“Right. Our secret.” Her laugh turned into a low-pitched guffaw, and he joined in. One more secret, he thought, as he cranked open his window to let in more cold air.

They reached their street, and Michael signaled the garage door open. He remembered to turn on the lights while they navigated the ground floor and climbed the stairs, as their neighbors would do. Sandy chuckled when they entered the blackout-curtained bedroom. “Finally, I can stop pretending. It’s exhausting when I try to get these all these social expectations right.”

They quickly performed their nightly routines and crawled naked onto the waterbed. Hiding under the covers in the frigid bedroom, they got comfortable. Their hands wandered over the skin that was exquisitely sensitive to touch. The couple reveled in caresses and kisses to celebrate their commitment to love and each other. They’d lived together for eight years, but each night was full of discovery and mutual pleasure. And they had their own method of enjoyment, something other people could never experience.

Sandy allowed her human body to shape-shift into a green tube with three slim, forked arms and four fins where legs should be. Her dark locks melted into wriggling purple tentacles, pulsing with alien life. Multiple eyes ringed the top of her tube. Michael now resembled a squat, golden sea anemone with blue tentacles. Both of their noses now were gill-like slits. They pleasured each other with their tentacles, the waterbed rippling with sloshing sounds, until it was time to feed. Sandy’s mouth, now at the top of her elongated form, latched onto a valve in the waterbed. Michael did the same, his tentacles curling as he fed on water full of living nutrients. When they were satiated, they turned to the business at hand.

Their conversation continued telepathically. Sandy listed the items they would need for their vacation trip to pass as plausible human tourists; Michael planned a two-week itinerary with a stopover in Las Vegas. Sandy addressed him by his real name—Fondolvan, and he called her by her endearing nickname—Xeniala. They used the language of Ancim, their home planet.

“Will you miss this place?” Xeniala asked in their native tongue, the words flying from one brain to the other in an instant. “Earthlings are annoying, but I’ve grown fond of a few, like Miranda and Levi and their children. And the natural wonders of the planet are more stunning than anything on Ancim. I regret now that I volunteered for this mission, but I believe Ancim needs the Lebensraum for its hungry citizens.”

“Don’t get too attached,” Fondolvan warned. “We’ll be going home soon. Our duty is to Ancim and the tens of billions who suffer there.”

“But to wipe out an entire civilization with a biological agent they have no defense against? Humans don’t deserve that. They overbreed, they pollute their home world, and they constantly kill each other off in wars—but they developed science and music. I’m afraid Ancim might pay a terrible price for this carnage.” Her tentacles roiled with her emotions, and the waterbed undulated beneath them.

Fondolvan’s golden body deepened to burnt sienna as his anger rose. “Have you forgotten your training? The lesser species are nothing but food for us.” His words landed in her brain with hot intensity.

“But they are somewhat intelligent, and they could be useful with run—”

“Stop it!” he ordered as his blue tentacles writhed. “Remember your oath. You’ve known for fifteen years the purpose of our data collection on Earth. The colonization will be rapid and nearly painless for the Earthlings. All our citizens need to do is dispose of the bodies. The oceans will be rich with the nutrients of the fallen—as they should be. It’s our way, Xeniala.”

Her green tube pulsed darker with shame. “I forgot for a moment that I am Ancimian. They warned me in training to guard against empathy with these creatures, but I became careless. Thank you, Fondolvan, for restoring me to right thinking.” Yet I still pity them. Their communication is primitive, with all that laborious talking aloud in a myriad of languages, and they cannot unite against a common threat. That’s why we will succeed.  

With the conversation ended and their emotions cooling, the couple rested and intertwined their tentacles in an intimate sharing. Their kind never slept, but at times they wound down to a relaxed stasis. Tomorrow would bring the challenges of working in the Earthlings’ world, and they would need all their energy to present themselves as ordinary humans for the next few weeks… until the invasion.

We have our plans, Michael thought. Our time is coming. There will be no more secrets—only silence.