The night before our wedding, the world was electric.
Social media had turned into a non-stop celebration of Thick Chick and Loverman. #ThickChickWedding was the top trend worldwide for the third day running. Fan accounts posted edited montages of our battles set to romantic ballads, slow-motion clips of us kissing after the asteroid save, fan-made invitations with purple and violet color schemes, and countdown timers ticking down to tomorrow's ceremony. "The wedding the world needs!" one viral post read, racking up millions of likes. Kids uploaded drawings of us exchanging rings on the moon; couples posted videos renewing their own vows in solidarity. Even late-night talk shows ran segments—hosts joking about whether the cake would be asteroid-shaped or if we'd have a zero-gravity first dance.
News helicopters circled our private island venue off the coast—drones buzzing like excited insects, trying to catch glimpses of last-minute preparations. Security was tight (government-provided, after the Extinction incident), but leaks still happened: photos of white tents, purple lighting rigs, a massive arch draped in flowers that glowed faintly violet at night. The public ate it up. "Earth's power couple tying the knot—hope they save us a slice of cake!" one comment read, liked by hundreds of thousands.
Inside our beachfront villa, the atmosphere was quieter, more intimate. Elena and I had decided no sex tonight—saving it for the wedding night. "Anticipation makes it better," she'd said with a wicked smile two days ago. I'd groaned in mock agony, but agreed. It was torture in the best way.
We spent the evening making last-minute preparations. The living room was a controlled chaos of fabric swatches, seating charts, and floral arrangements. Elena stood barefoot in a loose white sundress that clung to her curves—breasts full and soft beneath the thin cotton, hips swaying as she moved between tables. Her hair was up in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face. She looked radiant—happy, nervous, excited.
"Guest list final check," she said, holding up a tablet. "Your mum and dad arrive at 10 a.m. tomorrow. The island staff confirmed the arch is set. Cake tasting is done—triple chocolate with violet buttercream, just like we wanted."
I stepped behind her, hands sliding around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. "You're incredible, you know that?" I kissed the side of her neck—soft, lingering. "I can't believe this is real."
She leaned back into me, sighing happily. "Me neither. One year ago, you were just the cute guy next door staring at me over the fence. Now... tomorrow I marry you."
I turned her gently—cupping her face. "Best year of my life. Every second with you."
We kissed—slow, deep, full of promise. No heat, just love. Her lips were soft, tasting faintly of the champagne we'd sipped earlier. When we pulled apart, her eyes shimmered. "No sex tonight," she reminded me, half-teasing. "We promised."
"I know," I groaned dramatically. "Torture."
She laughed—light, musical. "Good things come to those who wait, future husband."
We continued preparations. I helped hang fairy lights along the veranda—tiny violet and purple bulbs that would glow like our auras. Elena arranged flowers—orchids and lilies, their petals shimmering faintly as if kissed by her power. We double-checked the vows we'd written together, reading them aloud in whispers, laughing at how cheesy some lines sounded, tearing up at others.
"'I promise to fight beside you, to love you through every battle and every quiet night,'" I read, voice thick. "I mean that, Elena. Every word."
She stepped close—arms around my neck. "'I promise to be your strength when you're weak, your light when it's dark, your home no matter where we are.' I mean it too. Forever."
We kissed again—longer this time, bodies pressing together. Her breasts soft against my chest, her hips fitting perfectly against mine. We pulled back—breathing hard—but stopped ourselves. "Tomorrow," she whispered.
"Tomorrow," I agreed.
We walked the beach together—barefoot, hand in hand. Waves lapped at our feet. The moon hung low, full and silver. "Remember when we fucked on the moon?" she asked, smiling.
"How could I forget?" I laughed. "Best view in the universe."
She stopped—turning to face me. "One month ago, we were lying naked on the moon, watching Earth, planning this. Now it's real."
I pulled her close. "Best decision I ever made."
We stood there—hugging, swaying gently to the sound of the waves. No sex. Just us. Hearts beating together. The anticipation was electric—sweet torture we both savored.
Later, back in the villa, we showered separately—another self-imposed rule. When I came out, she was in a silk robe, hair damp, skin glowing. I wore only boxers. We climbed into bed—bodies close, but no crossing the line.
"I can't wait to marry you," she whispered, head on my chest.
"I can't wait to call you my wife," I replied, kissing her forehead.
We talked for hours—dreams, fears, hopes. "What if the world needs us again tomorrow?" she asked softly.
"Then we answer," I said. "But tonight... tonight is ours."
She smiled—sleepy, content. "Tomorrow we become one. Officially."
"Already are," I murmured.
We fell asleep like that—bodies close, hearts synced, the world outside waiting to celebrate us.
One day away.
An eternity with Elena my personal idea of heaven was around the corner.