Alien and the Wedding Planner

by Lizzie Lynn Lee

  “We are the aliens, Commander,” Ice reminded him. “This is their planet.” Ice waved at the human, attempting a human-style greeting he learned from the broadcast.

  The young male didn’t return Ice’s gesture. Instead, he pulled out a thin rectangular device and aimed it in their direction.

  Storm tensed. His hand automatically groped where he kept his weapon. Ice stopped him. It appeared Storm’s combat conditioning made him sensitive for any sign of hostility.

  “What is he doing?” Storm growled.

  “Probably recording us. He must deem us as oddities and want to share what he sees with his friends. Humans are very social creatures.”

  “Shall I shoot him?”

  “Don’t you dare.” Ice shoved Commander Storm to move forward. “Don’t. You. Dare! Just ignore him and continue our walk.”

  “I don’t like the idea of our presence being recorded. Are you sure I can’t shoot him? There are seven billion humans on this planet. They won’t miss one.”

  “Commander!” Ice hissed through his teeth. “This is why I insisted to be on this first-contact mission. Had you sent your recon unit, you’d massacre half the planet.” Ice insisted that the military followed his instruction in this expedition. Common protocol required Crimea commanders and high-ranking crew stay on the ship when they landed on a foreign planet. Initiating first contact was the scouts’ job. When Storm found out Ice planned to descend by himself, he demanded that he accompany Ice. Protocol also dictated military presence in government-funded missions.

  “Well.” Commander Storm huffed indignantly. “It just so happens I prefer a straightforward approach. It’s easier to conquer this planet and force them to spill their secrets. Hang a few dozen corpses in the rafters and they’ll be eager to talk.”

  “Absolutely not. Emperor Chaos entrusted this mission to me and we’ll do this my way. That includes you, Commander.”

  “Suit yourself. Don’t ask for my help when the humans truss you up like a swine and carry you on a bamboo pole to your unlucky demise. I don’t see how anyone can still be alive after being stewed in a giant cauldron.”

  Ice felt his temple with his fingertips as a headache closed in. “Modern humans do not practice that barbaric ritual anymore. Besides, the broadcast you watched yesterday was a movie; not an educational documentary.”

  “Fictitious film?”

  “Yes.”

  Commander Storm grumbled. “I don’t understand humans.”

  “That is why we’re here.”

  “Well.” Storm glanced around. “We’d better go do something about our appearance if we want to blend in. More and more humans are looking at us suspiciously.”

  He was right. As they got closer to the residence area, their presence attracted unsuspecting onlookers. Ice spotted a store that seemed to be selling men’s clothing. He pounced at the chance to make his first purchase. He signaled Commander Storm to follow his lead.

  The shop was called “Thrift Store” and they stocked used goods from clothing to furniture and items that looked strange to him. The shop hadn’t opened yet, but Ice caught the sight of its shopkeeper. The human seemed surprised to see them. He unlocked the door and let them in.

  “Good morning, sire. We’d like to purchase some men’s clothes. The regular men’s clothes. Do you have them?” asked Ice. “We’re in town for a convention.”

  The shopkeeper scrutinized them from head to toe. “No shit. Are you guys larping or something?” he asked with curiosity.

  Ice inclined his head with a flourish. “We are thespian, my good man.”

  “Hear ye, hear ye,” added Commander Storm, on cue, as he’d been briefed earlier.

  “Right.” The man gave out a little piggish snort. “Follow me.” He led them to the back of the store where several rows of hanging racks were laden with carelessly tossed men’s clothing. “This is what we have right now. Nothing fancy. Did you guys lose your luggage or something?”

  “Indeed. Just our luck.” Ice feigned distress.

  The man shrugged. “Let me know if you find something you like.”

  “Much obliged.”

  As soon as the shopkeeper was out of their earshot, Storm whispered conspiratorially, “I think we’ve wandered into a used clothing store.”

  Ice rolled his eyes. “That’s quite obvious, isn’t it?”

  Storm picked up a raggedy-looking hat with distaste. “I’d like to revise my previous observation. This is a refuse store. This place is ripe with a myriad of health code violations.” In Crimea, the sale of used goods, especially clothing and intimate items, were prohibited due to safety concerns. Used goods were collected, disinfected, and sent straight to recycling centers.

  “Too bad, we have to work with what we have.” Ice rummaged the racks to find something that would fit them. The picking was slim, unfortunately. He was on the tall side. So was Commander Storm, plus his muscular girth. Nevertheless, Ice finally found some clothing that would fit them. He recalled the name of each piece from his researcher’s report: sweatpants, baggy sweater, T-shirt. Wooly duster. They changed their clothes but kept their boots because Ice couldn’t find anything that would fit their sizes. When they emerged in the front of the store, the storekeeper looked even more amused.

  “Find anything you like?” he asked Ice. His question was more like a statement.

  “These will do.” Ice gave the human his Visa card.

  The storekeeper shook his head. “Nah. Keep them. It’s on the house.”

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “They’re free.”

  Ice was stunned. “Much gratitude. But why?”

  “You guys are funny.”

  The first place Ice wanted to check was the humans’ local library. With computers filled with knowledge about anything related to humans, the place was a treasure trove of information. After checking his BRI interface for the closest location, they found one not far away.

  But the library wasn’t open yet and they had to wait outside. Storm was getting grumpier by the Earth-minute as they sat on the concrete steps in front of the building. When a woman approached with keys in her hand, they stood.

  “My,” she said with a laugh that sounded nervous to Ice. “Eager readers, are we?” She hesitated before unlocking the door. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in my library before.”

  Storm went rigid, almost standing at attention. “No, ma’am. It’s our first visit here. Can you help us find something?”

  “Oh, of course I can.” She looked over her shoulder at the parking lot, then unlocked the door and hurried behind the long desk. She pointed at a row of what appeared to be primitive monitors. “Those are all ready to go with the card catalog, but I’m happy to help you if you’re unfamiliar with it.”

  “We require information about human love and mating customs,” Storm said. “Where can we find that?”

  The woman blinked several times. “Human…sexuality?”

  “Yes,” Storm said with enthusiasm. “Human sexual practices, love rituals, the things that lead a man to want to impregnate a woman and—”

  “Sir, you’re making me very uncomfortable, to be honest. I’m going to have to ask you to come back at a later time.”

  Storm tilted his head. “I’m sorry you’re uncomfortable. But if we can just study the things that make humans’ genitals swell and prompt them to—”

  “Sir! I’m going to call the police if you don’t leave. You’re welcome to come back later when there are more people here, but I’m uncomfortable right now and telling you to go.” Her hand rested on what Ice had learned was a communication device called a telephone.

  “Forgive us,” Ice said, and grabbed Storm’s arm to pull him out of the library.

  “I don’t understand.” Storm looked over his shoulder at the woman. “Perhaps these clothes aren’t right after all?”

  The female librarian did show a certain disdain of their attire. Perhaps she thought they were vagrants?
Ice decided it couldn’t hurt to go into a different store to look. People in libraries might be a higher caste and wear finer garments. Just when he thought he had a grasp of human culture, reality proved him wrong. There was so much of it he didn’t understand.

  Two hours later, they stepped out of a store called “Tailor Shoppe” wearing what they’d been assured were the finest of suits. The proprietor had tried to convince them to have the suits altered to fit perfectly, but the ones they’d found were perfect for their needs. And the black Visa card had worked its magic splendidly. It afforded them the finest goods and service. It even got them comfortable shoes that the proprietor dubbed as finest Italian leather loafers. After they changed, the ensemble gave Ice confidence. One human poet named Shakespeare said “the clothes make the man,” and this time, Ice fully understood it. With them dressed like the highest caste of humans, Ice thought they shouldn’t encounter any problems in the library.

  On the way back, Ice saw a store called “Used Books.” It made him pause. He hadn’t expected to encounter these ancient paper documents. Crimea hadn’t used tactile formats for information for centuries, and their research said that paper books were rare antiquities on earth too. Between that and the incorrect clothing and currency, a number of researchers might need to be retrained for different jobs.

  “Let me handle things this time,” Ice said before asking the approaching clerk where they could find information about how to court a woman. She smiled and pointed them to a section called “Romance.” He gave Storm a smug look. His study of their culture had made a difference already.

  Storm plucked a book from the shelf: The Billionaire’s Submissive Bride. He pulled a device from his pocket and scanned a few pages. “You like it rough, don’t you,” Malcolm said as he pulled Tanya over his lap, her bare ass round and ready for his punishment. As his hand made contact with her pale, supple flesh, she whimpered. “Yes, oh yes.”

  Storm glanced up at Ice, and read a little more. “I’m gonna spank this sweet ass until you beg me to tie you up and fuck you.”

  A woman in the same aisle snapped her head their way and frowned.

  “Not so loud,” Ice said. He didn’t know why she frowned, but perhaps she didn’t like Storm’s voice?

  Storm nodded and scanned further, then turned to the woman. “May I ask you a question about this book?”

  “Storm,” Ice warned.

  But the woman shook her head. “I haven’t read it, so I’m not sure how I could help.”

  “In it, the female is being spanked by the male. Is this common in females, the desire to be spanked before being tied up and, what was the word, fucked?”

  The woman’s eyes went round, her mouth fell open, and she stomped away. A few minutes later, they were escorted from the shop by the owner.

  Ice was irritated as hell. “Commander Storm, I thought I’d explicitly told that you were going to let me do the talking?”

  “We were already in and blending well. It was a simple question, wasn’t it?”

  Ice rubbed the bridge of his nose again. It was a simple question for a military man who wanted to get to the heart of the issue as fast as possible. Clearly it wasn’t that simple for a human woman stopped and questioned by a stranger.

  “Next outing, I’ll have you stay in the ship,” said Ice. He quickly calculated which of his underlings he’d like to take with for the field operation.

  Commander Storm looked offended. “Absolutely not. You cannot leave the ship without a military escort.”

  “Fine. I’ll take your Second Mate.”

  “I think not. Lieutenant Eagle has a hair-trigger temper.”

  “And so do you.”

  “I most definitely do not.”

  “I beg your pardon, Commander, but I remember just a couple hours ago, you expressed a great intent to enslave this planet.”

  “I fail to see the connection between you wanting no military escort.”

  “Of course, you don’t.”

  “Are you being sarcastic, Minister Silverkiller?”

  Ice sighed inwardly. “Just heed me, I beg of you. Let me do the talking from now on.”

  Storm lifted his palms up in surrender. “As you wish.”

  Quickly accessing his BRI interface, Ice checked the map of the area. He hoped they could find another library or store filled with books that they wouldn’t be banished from this time.

  He’d still rather go alone, but that was probably a little pride—pride he wasn’t supposed to feel—creeping in. The only thing that mattered was the mission, so he signaled Storm to follow and again went in search of the information they hoped could save Crimea.

  Chapter Two

  If I never have to deal with another bride-to-be in my life, it’ll be too soon.

  Alana Watson laughed out loud at that thought as she sat alone at her desk. Because she made her living as a wedding planner, never dealing with another bride-to-be was nothing but a pipedream. She loved her job. She loved every aspect of planning and making a couple’s big day be as grand, memorable, and magical as could be. But there was a downside to it, too, when her client turned into a bridezilla. Alana was blessed with incredible patience by nature. But that had a limit. She wasn’t a saint. And today was one of the days she wished she wasn’t a wedding planner.

  “I could change careers,” she said to the empty room. “I’m only in my mid-thirties. Become a dog walker or a mortician. I’ll sell my business and enroll in mortuary school. Dead people don’t talk back and complain. Yeah. That’s sweet. I could do that. Sure.”

  Her employees were in the back, wisely avoiding her, after the bridezilla had just made them all want to tear their hair out. Fortunately, they weren’t all like the bridezilla, but enough were that the idea of changing professions occurred to Alana at least once or twice a month.

  The bell above the door chimed, and Alana almost groaned out loud. Not another one already.

  Gathering the remaining patience she had, Alana forced a smile and looked up as she rose from her desk. Her dread melted away instantaneously. Her grin was genuine when she saw the two men who stepped into her shop. They looked around at the various fabrics, décor, and flowers of her samples. They each carried a large bag from Barnes & Noble.

  This is a nice change, she thought. Alana was always happy to plan gay weddings. She had never had to deal with a same-sex couple that was as exasperating as some of the brides she’d had to deal with.

  None had ever shown up in matching bespoke suits before, either. She recognized the cut of them and the quality, because she’d dealt with her share of tuxedos over the years. Their suits were made from expensive imported Italian fabric and the craftsmanship was exquisite. She already could see big dollar signs dancing in her head. Cha-ching! This wedding would probably be a no-expense-spared sort of event, and she loved having a huge budget to work with. The planning was so much more fun for everyone when money wasn’t an issue.

  Both men were tall, well-built, with piercing, light eyes and long, silver hair down their backs. They were both handsome, but the one following a step behind the larger man was stunning. His eyes locked with Alana’s, and a shiver went through her.

  He’s clearly taken, you dolt. Leave it to you to get turned on by an engaged gay man. Shame on you, girl.

  “Hello, I’m Alana Watson,” she said as she approached them and held out her hand. “How can I help you gentlemen today?”

  The one who’d walked in first stared at her hand a moment as if he didn’t know what it was. When the other one slapped his arm, he said, “Oh,” and shook her hand. The stunning man stepped up and took her hand in his large one to shake it firmly. His hand was oddly cool but dry, and once again she chided herself for the little tingle it sent through her.

  He pulled his hand back to himself. “We see that you plan weddings.”

  “Yes, yes I do.” She gestured for them to come in and sit in the chairs in front of her desk. “Have you two set a date yet?”r />
  They sat as awkwardly as they’d stood inside her door. The gorgeous one shook his head as if he didn’t understand. “I am Ice Silverkiller, and this,” he said, gesturing to his partner, “is Storm Dreadhowl.”

  His accent was slight, but noticeable, and unlike any she’d ever heard before. Was this a joke, or were they using their cosplayer names or something? “Pleased to meet you. Interesting names.”

  “Those are the closest translations from our native language.”

  “What language is that?”

  “Crimean.”

  Alana frowned. Didn’t they mostly speak Russian in Crimea? Maybe it was a dialect she’d never heard of. “I see. Well, it’s easier to plan before you set the date anyway, because so many things take a lot of time to set up. Do you have a general idea of when you want to get married, what you want the wedding to be like, those sorts of things?”

  Ice’s silver brows drew down. “We simply need to know what motivates two adult people to want to join and have children.”

  Huh?

  Alana didn’t answer for a moment. Maybe “wedding” didn’t translate into Crimean or Russian or whatever these two originally spoke, and they thought she could help with relationship troubles instead.

  She blinked and quickly gathered herself.

  “In that case I think you’d get more help from a couples’ counselor than a wedding planner. I’m the one who handles things after a couple decides to commit and get married, not the build-up to it.”

  Alana used both hands to pull her long, reddish-brown hair back into a ponytail and hold it there for a minute, a habit of hers when she was nervous or uncomfortable. She’d imagined some fun event planning and a good payday when they’d walked in dressed to the nines, and now it seemed this was a mistake at best, or a joke at worst. She let go of her hair and sighed. “I can help you find someone in the phone book, if you’d like. You can probably get an appointment with a decent counselor within a few weeks.”

  Both their eyes widened. “Weeks? We only have a few days.”

  Alana held her hands up in surrender. “Maybe if you offer them money for a rush appointment…”