The Regulator had clearly been practicing.
Instead of its usual booming, crystalline voice that made conversations feel like negotiations with a computer, it spoke in warm tones that carried both authority and genuine affection.
"Friends, family, beings of countless timelines," it began, "we gather to witness something extraordinary."
I squeezed Edmund's hand, feeling the slight tremor that told me he was overwhelmed too. Our assembled guests—chosen family, reformed Committee members, beings who'd become essential to our happiness—focused their attention on this moment.
My throat felt tight when the Regulator described our relationship not as romantic fantasy but as conscious choice to grow together. This made everything suddenly real.
"I confess," the Regulator said, "when I first encountered these two, I didn't understand love. I saw chaos, inefficiency. I tried to eliminate it."
Soft chuckles rippled through our guests.
"What I learned is that love isn't the opposite of order. Love is conscious order. The choice to create structure through mutual commitment to growth."
Edmund went first with his vows. I was grateful because my brain had temporarily forgotten how language worked.
He turned to face me fully, taking both hands, and everything else faded until it was just us in our favorite kind of moment—quiet, real, completely ours.
"Lila," he began, voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "Growing up, I was told a man's duty was to find his place, accept his role, live within proper boundaries."
"You taught me duty isn't about accepting limitations—it's choosing responsibilities. The most proper thing is living authentically, even when that leads nowhere anyone's been before."
My eyes were definitely watery now.
"I promise I'll choose you every day, not because it's easy, but because it's right. I'll grow with you, learn from you, challenge you when needed and support you when needed. I'll help carry cosmic responsibility and celebrate cosmic discovery."
"I'll love you through temporal rifts and reality restructuring, through quiet Tuesday evenings and universe-saving adventures."
"I choose you, Lila Reyes, across time, across possibility, across every circumstance the universe might throw at us."
I was crying now, but good tears. Happy tears.
"My turn," I said, taking a shaky breath.
I looked at Edmund—really looked. This man who'd traveled centuries to find me, learned tablet computers with the same care he'd given star charts. Who read poetry while I worked equations and made coffee with nineteenth-century precision every morning.
"Edmund, I used to think love was something that happened to you. Random, uncontrollable, maybe beautiful but essentially chaotic."
"You taught me love is something you do. A choice, a practice, commitment to showing up especially when it's difficult."
"You showed me strength isn't having answers or never being afraid. Strength is being honest about fears and choosing courage anyway."
"I promise I'll choose you every day, not just when you're easy to love, but especially when love requires effort. I'll grow with you and give you space to grow."
"I'll share discoveries with you and learn from yours. I'll help you carry the weight of being who you are—nineteenth-century gentleman and cosmic adventurer and everything between."
"I choose you, Edmund Hartley, across every timeline, every possibility, every reality we might encounter."
The silence felt full rather than empty—charged with promises made and witnessed.
"Do you have rings?" the Regulator asked gently.
Edmund's hand shook as he took his ring from James. Mine was steadier as I accepted mine from Elena.
"Edmund," I said, slipping the ring on his finger, watching it glow with recognition. "With this ring, I thee wed."
"Lila," he replied, hands steady now. "With this ring, I thee wed."
Something shifted when the rings settled. Not dramatically—no reality restructuring as we'd requested. But something deeper. As if the universe was recognizing this moment, this choice.
"By the power vested in me," the Regulator said with satisfaction, "I pronounce you married."
Edmund didn't wait for permission. He was already reaching for me, making good on our promise to choose each other again and again.
The kiss was everything a first married kiss should be—tender, passionate, completely ours yet witnessed by everyone we loved.
"I present Dr. and Captain Hartley," the Regulator announced.
"Actually," I surprised myself, "Dr. and Captain Hartley-Reyes."
Edmund's smile could have powered the ship. "I'd be honored to share your name and your life."
As we faced our friends as a married couple, I felt bone-deep certainty we'd chosen correctly. Not just Edmund, but this life, this adventure, building something beautiful together.
The reception was perfect chaos. Actual champagne appeared somehow. Marcus composed a toast in iambic pentameter that was funny and moving. Gabriel and Elena's cognitive symbiosis demo became impromptu dancing when quantum harmonics responded to joy.
But the moment I'll remember most came later. After guests returned to quarters, Edmund and I found ourselves alone in our ceremony space, still in wedding clothes, slow dancing to music from our quantum rings.
"How does it feel being married to a man from 1822?" he asked softly.
"Like the most natural thing in the world," I said honestly. "How does it feel being married to a woman who accidentally taught the universe to fall in love?"
"Like coming home," he replied.
This was home. Not a place, but a choice. Not destination, but journey we'd decided to take together.
"Ready for whatever impossible adventure comes next?"
"With you?" Edmund spun me gently. "Always."
We weren't just married now. We were partners. In every sense, in every timeline, for every adventure still to come.
The best was yet to be.