Symphonic Artistry
Chapter 1: The Pianist
Her fingers dance across the ivory keys of the grand piano. She sat upright as she played, her eyes closed. The music was smooth and soft. After a few experimental notes, she opened her eyes and stopped playing. Next to her on her stool was a pad and pen. She immediately wrote down a few notes and then went back into her position of solitude. This went on for hours.
After the third hour, her tranquility was interrupted by the sound of someone entering her home. "Bulma love, I'm home!" came the voice of her boyfriend.
Bulma Briefs stiffened at his voice. She did not turn her head as she heard him enter the parlor. Instead, she started to stack her papers. "You're home early. I haven't even chosen what we're going to eat for dinner yet," she said quietly.
Frieza Cold, her boyfriend, walked in. He looked at her as she hurriedly put her sheet music in order. "I thought I'd come home early and surprise you." He produced a small box out of his pocket. Bulma looked at it as he held it to her face. "Go on and take it," he said.
The pianist took the box and opened in. Inside were a pair of sapphire earrings that easily matched the color of her eyes. Bulma pasted a smile on her face. "Thank you, Frieza," she said. Frieza nodded and began to walk out of the room. "Is there anything you would want me to have Puella make?" she asked before he left the room.
"I'm not in the mood for anything particular. Anything you want is fine, Bulma," Frieza said as he left the room.
Bulma sighed and sat the jewelry box on the top of the piano. It matters, Frieza. It always matters, she thought dismally.
After arranging her papers, Bulma made her way through the brownstone she shared with Frieza. The place used to be her parents'. When Dr. and Mrs. Briefs had passed, they left their cherished brownstone to Bulma along with a hefty inheritance. It was not like Bulma needed it, though. As a world-renowned pianist, she made her own fair share of money. When she had suggested donating a large sum of it to charity, Frieza had scoffed at the idea.
When Bulma walked in the kitchen, Puella the maid was cleaning the counters. The brownstone was very old-fashioned and it still had the same counters and cupboards as when it was first built. They had been furbished and refurbished a few times over the years, but they still looked good as new. The only things to change was the stove and refrigerator.
"Good evening, Miss Bulma. Did Mr. Cold tell you what he wants for dinner tonight?" she asked. Puella was a portly woman with a very dignified air about her. Even though she was a simple maid, she carried herself with more elegance than most socialites. She was also like a surrogate mother to Bulma, having cared for her when she was a child.
"Of course he didn't tell me, Puella. I suppose something simple will do for tonight. Just make sure it's something that can be made in a relatively short period of time," Bulma replied. She leaned against the counter near the refrigerator. "I'll take my dinner in my room, though."
Puella raised an eyebrow. "If that is what you want," she said.
Bulma nodded and left the kitchen. She went up the stairs to her bedroom. She had a concert tomorrow night and she needed to rest. She always played better when she was well-rested. Besides, she had been writing music all day and her eyes were weary. When she got to her bedroom, she saw that Frieza had already been through it. His suit, shoes, and shirt were strewn across the floor, as if he'd just stepped out of them as he entered the room. Sighing, Bulma began to clean up after him.
Frieza came out of the bathroom dressed in lounging clothes. He smiled when he saw Bulma cleaning up. "I called some of my associates over. I hope Puella is making enough food."
"Perhaps you should go tell her that, Frieza," Bulma said as she discarded his clothes in a hamper.
"I will. But, could you go pick up some of that lovely vodka I tried the other day? I believe we only have enough left for one glass."
The pianist sighed. "Frieza, I just bought that vodka two days ago. Surely you could not have gone through three bottles in that short amount of time." Bulma looked at him. Looking back on the past couple of days, she could see how Frieza could have gone through all that alcohol. "I really wish you'd stop drinking so much. It isn't healthy."
Frieza shot her a look. "I'll decide what's healthy for me. Just go get the damn vodka." He hit her lightly on her bottom, making her jump a bit. "It's getting dark. You had better hurry," he said as he left the room.
Bulma muttered a string of curses under her breath. If Frieza heard half of the things she said when he angered her, she wouldn't be able to play the piano for weeks, let alone show her face outside of her bedroom. She went in search of her purse and coat. When she made her way downstairs, she could smell Puella's cooking. She could also hear Frieza laughing jovially. He seemed to be on the phone. Rolling her eyes, Bulma went out the front door and down the stoop of the brownstone.
It was a blustery evening. The streetlights had come on as the sun was setting. The crisp autumn air made Bulma shiver momentarily. She crossed her arms and headed up the street. The liquor store was three blocks up the street. Usually Bulma would call a cab, but she felt like walking.
After picking up another five bottles of vodka, Bulma took her time getting back to her home. She took the time to look at her surroundings. She noticed the lights on in what she knew to be an unoccupied brownstone. She saw a few men carrying rectangular objects wrapped in paper up the stoop. Squinting in the darkness, she noticed a familiar face. "Goku!"
The man with unruly hair turned to face Bulma. He almost dropped what he was carrying as he tried to wave at her. "Hi, Bulma!" He sat the wrapped object down and walked down the stoop. They met on the sidewalk. "I forgot you lived over here."
"I've been a horrible friend. I haven't seen you and Chichi since your wedding. That was what? Four years ago?" Bulma asked.
"Five, actually. You shouldn't blame yourself, though. We haven't exactly been coming to visit either. Friendship is a two-way street. How's Frieza?" Goku smiled at her.
"Well, we're still together, if that's what you're asking. We're still going strong," she answered while looking away. She knew Goku noticed her attitude towards the question, so she decided to immediately change the subject. "Are you moving down here?"
Goku looked back at the working men. "Uh, no. I'm helping a friend move in here. He just bought this brownstone. These are his paintings we're carrying in right now," he said. "It never dawned on me that you lived over here, too. I guess it completely skipped my mind."
Bulma looked down at the rectangular package. "So he likes art, eh?"
"He has to on some level. He's an artist and a photographer." Goku snapped. "Why don't you come in and meet him? You guys will be neighbors. You might as well say hello." He grabbed Bulma's arm before she could say anything in protest. He pulled her up the stoop and into the brownstone. Bulma put the bottles she was carrying down by the front door.
"Goku, I don't want to intrude. I'm sure I can meet him on my own..."
"Kakarrot, what the hell are you doing?"
Bulma blinked. It was not often she heard someone use Goku's real name. Only his father and brother ever called him by it. She grew up going to school with him and had not known his real name until they were almost in high school. She then turned her attention to who had spoken. He was not as tall as Goku, but his demeanor made him seem taller. Bulma decided it was either that or his peculiar hairstyle. I wonder how he gets it to stand straight up like that, she thought idly.
"Kakarrot, I'm not paying you to slack off," he said. Then he noticed Bulma. His attitude did not change. He wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something offensive and glared at her. "Who's she?"
Goku sighed. "Vegeta, this is Bulma Briefs. She's one of my closest friends and your new neighbor. Bulma, this is Vegeta Ouji. He's a college buddy of mine," he said. He moved out of the way so Bulma and Vegeta could see each other.
He was good-looking; Bulma would give him that. His facial expression had not softened after the initial introduction. Bulma took the moment of silence to step forward and extend her hand. "Hi. Nice to meet you." She held it out, waiting for him. He looked down at her hand and shook it roughly. His grip was almost too firm. Bulma pulled away with a nervous smile. "Careful there. I make a living with my hands."
Vegeta smirked. "So do I."
"That's right! Bulma, you have a concert soon, don't you? Chichi did mention she saw a poster for it." Goku looked back at Vegeta. "Bulma is a pianist."
"I have one tomorrow. I can get you and Chichi in if you don't already have tickets," Bulma said, tearing her eyes away from Vegeta. He was burning holes in her with his eyes. He was not looking at her with a lustful eye as so many men do on a regular basis. Instead, it was a critical eye. It was as if he was deciding something.
Goku clasped his hands together. "That'd be wonderful! I'm sure Chichi would love to see you! How about you, Vegeta? You wanna come?"
Vegeta cut his sharp eyes to Goku. "I have better things to do with my time than attend a concert, Kakarrot. I don't have time for leisure outings." He turned and walked away from the two, directing the other movers where to put things.
Goku scratched the back of his head and faced Bulma again. "Vegeta's always cranky like that. You've gotta get used to his attitude. He's a big softy on the inside, though. At least it'll be nice seeing Frieza again."
Bulma gasped. "Frieza!" She turned and hurried out of the house. She could hear Goku calling after her. "I'm sorry but I have to go, Goku! I'll put your names on the guests' list for tomorrow, ok?" She picked up the alcohol she left on the stoop and waved goodbye as she rushed next door.
Goku stopped smiling as he looked at the brownstone Bulma had disappeared into. He got the feeling there was something Bulma was not telling him. In the five years that they went without seeing one another, something had changed. She never used to be so demure and reserved. Bulma was known for being loud and vivacious. She had always been the life of the party, not a shrinking violet. Goku thought she was a shadow of herself now. I could just be overthinking things. I haven't seen her in so long, after all. Maybe Chichi can get a better read on her, he thought. He turned and went back to helping the movers.
Bulma came through the entrance a little more noisily than she thought. She hurried to the kitchen. Puella was there, finishing up the meal. "You're almost done with dinner?"
"Yes. Mr. Frieza is getting impatient. His friends have come over."
"Which ones?" Bulma asked as she hurriedly put some of the beers in the freezer.
"Dodoria and Zarbon, I believe."
Bulma shuddered. Dodoria was a pervert, but Zarbon was decent enough. He seemed to be Frieza's voice of reason most times. "Has he been drinking?" She did not need to specify who she was talking about. She saw Puella nod slowly. "I'll take my food in my..."
"You're back late. I know it didn't take that long just to pick up some vodka." Frieza walked in the kitchen. He still had a bottle in his hand. "Where've you been for so long?"
She briefly contemplated lying to him. She made her way past him and into the hall towards the stairs. "I just got caught talking to the new neighbor. He seemed nice. He's an artist," she said, not looking at Frieza. She knew he was still following her, though. "I didn't mean to be so late. I just lost track of the time. I've really got to get some rest now."
Frieza grabbed her arm and pulled her back down the steps to him. Bulma tried not to show how disgusted she was from the smell of alcohol coming from him. He opened his mouth to say something. Before he could, one of his friends yelled from the living room downstairs. He stared at Bulma a moment longer before releasing her.
Bulma watched him go back down the stairs, calling back to his friend. She let out a silent sigh. Saved by Dodoria. Never thought I'd see the day, she thought with a wry smile. She headed upstairs and to her bedroom.
Bulma's eyes popped open a few hours later. There was something going on downstairs. She had only one guess as to whom was making such a ruckus. She glanced at her alarm clock. It was just past 2am. I don't have time for this. Bulma tried to roll over and go to sleep. However, she knew that Puella was long gone by this time of night. Damned if I do and damned if I don't.
The pianist pulled herself out of her warm bed and picked up her peignoir from a chair across the room. She put it on in one fluid movement as she made her way to the door of the bedroom. As she opened the door, the full sounds of Frieza's drunken rant echoed throughout the empty stairwell. Bulma sighed and headed down two flights of stairs.
She found Frieza sitting on the stairs, singing drunkenly. The song was too garbled for her to understand any of the lyrics, let alone to figure out what the tune was. "Frieza dear, it's very late. Come on up to bed." As much as she hated it, Bulma knew he would want to wake up next to her when he sobered.
Frieza glared up at her. He was usually so proper and kept. Only a few knew what he was like when he had too much liquor in his system. An empty bottle of the new vodka was rolling around on the landing. "Allo, love. Shouldn' ya be sleepin'?" he asked. He slowly got to his feet. "Ya griped 'bout bein' up too late. Why're you down 'ere?" He took one step up, holding on to the railing.
A thought crossed Bulma's mind. For one instant she had one of the most violent and heinous thoughts in her life. She immediately cleared her mind of such a thought and then blinked. "Frieza, let's get you to bed now." She reached for him.
"I don' wanna." He held her away from him. Then he noticed what she had on. "Yer lookin' real pretty right now. Yer wearin' that nightie I like so much." Frieza tried to pull her back towards him.
"Darling, not tonight." Bulma countered. She held him at a distance, but tried to pull him up the stairs simultaneously. Frieza moved far quicker than she expected and tried to kiss her. Bulma immediately pushed him away. "Not tonight, Frieza. You're drunk. You need rest. Now come to bed."
Bulma's soft tone clearly did not sit well with Frieza. He backhanded her. She hit the wall and slid down it to sit. Before she could move, Frieza was on top of her. His breath was paralyzing to her. The fruity vodka smell was sickening. Did he really down the entire bottle? She took a deep breath through her mouth and pushed Frieza off of her with all her might. She got to her feet and turned away from him. She felt him pull on her peignoir and she turned and yanked the cloth out of his grasp.
"Ya've gotten a bit bold tonight, haven't ya?" Frieza yelled up at her. He got his bearings and went after her.
The pianist ran up the stairs and towards their shared bedroom. He was moving faster than she gave him credit for. That only meant he'd sobered up a bit during their scuffle. Sober Frieza was worse than drunk Frieza. Bulma reached their bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She locked it, ran to her bathroom and shut and locked the door. She paced, listening to Frieza attempt to get in their room. When he finally got into their bedroom, he marched right to her bathroom.
"Bulma, why must we go through this dance yet again?" he called to her. His slurred speech had almost completely disappeared. Bulma was amazed at how quickly he could sober up when he wanted to. He banged on the bathroom door, making her jump. "Bulma?"
He never yells. I think I wouldn't be so afraid if he were a screaming lunatic. But he never yells, Bulma thought as he began hitting the door. Usually, she opened it by now. Tonight, she just backed up towards the far wall of the bathroom. Eventually the door gave way and Frieza marched right on in. He gave her a lopsided smirk and advanced slowly.
Vegeta's eyes opened slowly. He was tired, but there was something going on outside his bedroom window. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. It sounded as though someone had slammed a door behind his brownstone. He walked to his window and peered outside of it. There was no one in his backyard, but there was light coming from the yard next door.
The blue-haired woman from earlier was standing on her porch. The porch light was shining on her back. She was dressed in her night clothes. Her hair was disheveled and she was trying in vain to straighten it out some. Vegeta continued to watch her for a moment as she tried to light a cigarette with shaking hands. When she finally lit it, she took a very long drag from it.
Vegeta glanced at his alarm clock beside his bed. Three in the morning. Why is she still up if she has a concert tomorrow? He leaned against the window. She said her name was Bulma... After a moment, Vegeta unlocked his window and opened it.
"Shouldn't you be asleep, woman?"
Her shoulders tensed and she nearly dropped her cigarette. She looked up towards Vegeta and squinted. "Um, Mr. Ouji?"
"Call me Vegeta."
"Um, okay. Did I wake you? I'm sorry. I just needed a smoke and my... partner prefers if I don't do it in the house. You know? Because of the smell."
Vegeta grunted. "Those cancer sticks will rot you from the inside out," he said.
Bulma smiled before chuckling softly. "I don't do it often. Sometimes it just helps me to relax. The alternative is going inside and pouring a glass of vodka. Then again, I'm sure there's little to none left for me to even get a slight buzz." She said the last part sarcastically and laced with derision. She took another long drag from the cigarette before dropping it and putting it out on the porch. "I should try to get more rest. Perhaps I'll see you tonight."
He said nothing else as she went back inside her own home. Who the hell gets up in the middle of the night to smoke? Is she mad? Vegeta mused. She seemed so reserved and demure, but from what Goku had been going on and on about, she was anything but. Clearly the woman has changed over time. Shaking his head, he shut his window and went back to bed.
Bulma arrived at the concert hall earlier than usual. As instructed earlier that morning, her personal assistant and best friend was there waiting for her. Juu Gero stood on the steps of the concert hall with her arms crossed. She watched as Bulma began to ascend the steps. When they were level, Bulma let out a long sigh.
Juu raised an eyebrow. "Long night?" she asked.
"A little. I was up late finishing a new piece. Are my clothes for tonight here?" Bulma took off her sunglasses and squinted at Juu in the bright sunlight. Juu nodded as Bulma put her sunglasses in her purse. "Then let's go see them."
As the two headed towards the dressing rooms, Juu began going through a list of things Bulma needed done before the concert started in three hours. "Your makeup artist will be here in about thirty minutes. He wants to see the dress so that he can think of a look he wants for you."
"I always wear black. What's to change about that?"
"But you never wear black makeup, or haven't you noticed that?" Juu watched Bulma shake her head. "Well, the chosen designers each sent two dresses for you to pick through. You'll need one for the concert and one for the after-party."
"Do I have to attend the after-party? Is it really necessary?" Bulma whined as they came to elevators. Juu just narrowed her icy blue eyes at Bulma. "Fine. I just don't feel like putting on the smile and wave act tonight. I just want to play the piano and go home. They can have all this starlet stuff."
Juu rolled her eyes as they entered the elevator. "Well, when you magically forget how to play the piano and that pretty face loses its luster, then you can go back to being normal. Until that day comes, you will be a starlet." She noticed Bulma's melancholy expression. "Listen, Bulma. I know you hate that glamour part of this. I hate it too. I'd like nothing more than to go get a drink at some bar filled with hot men and loud music instead of a stuffy after-party. But I don't make these decisions."
The two came to the dressing room. When they entered, Bulma was a little shocked by the layout. The room was filled with red and white roses in glass vases. Bulma moved over to one and picked up the card. She rolled her eyes and sighed when she saw who they were from.
Juu's nose wrinkled at the sight of the flowers. "I thought you told Frieza you hate roses."
Bulma sat the card back in one of the bouquets. "I sure did. As with all things I tell Frieza, it goes through one ear and out the other. Make sure I end up with one of these in my hair. He'll be saddened if I don't show him that I appreciate the thought."
"That's all that counts, isn't it?" Juu's tone did not go unnoticed by Bulma. She glared at her friend. Juu raised her hands in surrender. "I'm just saying that I think you can do so much better than Frieza."
"Your opinion is duly noted. Let's pick one of these dresses."
The view from the private box in the concert hall was beautiful. Goku looked over the edge, watching people file in. They had a great view of the stage from their position. A hand grabbed hold of Goku's arm and pulled him down into his seat. He smiled and looked at his wife. "What is it?"
"Don't hang over the edge like that, Goku. What happens if you lose your balance?" Chichi chided. She took her cellphone out of her wristlet and looked at it. "No messages from the babysitter," she mumbled. Goku placed a hand over her cellphone and she glanced up at him.
"Chi, Gohan will be fine. Just relax. Everything will be fine."
Chichi pouted a bit. "I'm just not used to being away from him. He's just six months old."
"All the more reason why you need this night out. You haven't relaxed since you had Gohan. I promise he'll be fine for the night. Just enjoy yourself, please." Goku took her phone from her. Chichi nodded and smiled at him.
The door to the suite opened behind them. Goku turned to see Vegeta saunter inside, looking irritated. "Oh hi, Vegeta. I'm didn't think you'd come."
Vegeta sneered as he sat down beside Goku. "Where's your brat?" he asked, looking over at Chichi. Since he'd been born, Vegeta had not seen Chichi without the baby glued to her hip.
"A concert is no place for a baby. He's at home with a sitter. Goku seems to think he'll be just fine without me for one night. I don't quite agree with that but I've no choice but to relax," Chichi said.
"Hn." Vegeta said no more and instead listened to Goku and Chichi chatter beside him. He watched as the hall filled to capacity. The audience seemed to murmur with an intense anticipation for the concert that was to come. There were quite a few important figures and famous people in the audience. Vegeta was happy that he'd decided to come in the back way. He did not do the red carpet, thinking it to be a waste of time.
"Well, look who it is..."
Goku turned around in his seat to see Frieza entering. As he usually was, he was dressed perfectly for the event. Goku stood to greet him. "It's been a while, Frieza. How have you been?"
"I've been great. Bulma didn't tell me she'd invited anyone," he said as he took a seat beside Chichi. He ignored the glare Chichi gave him. She'd never much cared for Frieza and had let him know it every chance she got. "She should've told me. I would've definitely seen to it that you all had refreshments."
"We're fine, but thank you. Oh! Frieza, this is my friend Vegeta. He's actually your new neighbor." Goku moved to the left so that Frieza could see Vegeta. Vegeta turned his head and immediately decided that he did not like Frieza.
Frieza could say the same. Something about Vegeta rubbed him the wrong way. "The pleasure is all mine. Bulma did indeed mention a new neighbor of ours. Perhaps we'll have a chance to better get to know one another."
Vegeta narrowed his eyes before looking away. "Perhaps," he mumbled.
Bulma looked at herself in the mirror. Her makeup artist had managed to once again make her look like something out of a futuristic fantasy. She had become known for her elaborate makeup during her performances. Dramatic eye makeup and outlandish hair were part of her act. Sighing, Bulma looked down at her bare arms. Her eyes fell to the purplish bruises around her wrists against her pale skin. They were painfully noticeable. Sighing, she reached for her fingerless black gloves just as Juu entered the dressing room.
"Bulma, they're ready for..." Juu stopped talking when she saw Bulma's wrist. Bulma immediately tried to cover her wrist with the gloves. Juu stalked forward and took Bulma's arm in her own. "What the hell is this?" She looked at both of Bulma's wrists. "Bulma?"
The pianist snatched her arms out of Juu's hands and went back to slipping her gloves on. "It's nothing you need to worry about, Juu. I can still play perfectly fine." Bulma got to her feet. "Could you help me with the rose?" she asked, holding out a white rose.
Juu frowned but did as she was told. Once the white rose had been placed in Bulma's extravagant updo, she took a few steps back to admire Bulma's outfit. Her blue-haired friend wore a halter gown. The skirt was white with a layer of black organza surrounding it. The bodice was embellished with appliques. There was a small train, but nothing too long. Juu nodded her approval. Bulma nodded as well and turned to leave the room. Juu watched her best friend go with narrowed eyes.
This isn't over yet, Bulma. Not by a long shot.
As the lights dimmed, the audience hushed. A single spotlight came on and shone down on the closed curtain. There was little sound as the curtain opened to reveal a black grand piano sitting lonely on the large stage. After a few moments of silence, a silhouette could be seen entering the stage left.
Vegeta did not clap as Bulma took her seat like everyone else. He could hear the excitement from Goku and Chichi beside him. Chichi was saying how beautiful Bulma's dress was while Goku was wondering what she would play. Vegeta concentrated on the woman far below him on the stage. She positioned her hands over the ivory keys. After a full 30 seconds, she began to play.
While it was definitely beautiful, the songs Bulma played were full of all the wrong emotions. There was clearly anger and sadness. What stuck out to Vegeta the most was that loneliness was among the emotions emanating through her music. How could someone like her be lonely? Vegeta looked over at the others and saw that Goku's smile had disappeared and Chichi had been moved to tears.
The concert lasted about 45 minutes. Once she finished, Bulma placed her hands in her lap and remained still for a moment. The audience erupted into applause and gave her a standing ovation. Bulma rose from the bench and walked to the front of the stage. With a straight face, she took a few bows. When she gathered a few of the stuffed animals thrown on stage, she finally smiled out at her audience. With a wave, she left the stage.
The hall was still clapping once Bulma was off the stage. She stepped behind the curtains and saw Juu smiling at her. "As usual, that was perfect. Let's hurry. We've got twenty minutes to get you changed and to the hotel for the party," she said. Bulma nodded and her stylist was already starting to undress her as they entered the elevator towards the dressing rooms.
"Will you all be attending the after party as well?" Frieza asked as he rose from his seat. "I'm sure Bulma would be happy to see you all there. She did invite you after all."
"Yeah we are. The tickets she gave us have the location of the party on them. We'll see you there," Goku said. Frieza nodded and left the room humming happily to himself.
Chichi shivered as the door to the suite closed. "Even after all these years, he still gives me the creeps. What does Bulma see in that snake?"
"Come on, Chi. He's not that bad." Goku held out his hand and helped Chichi from her seat.
"He's a horrible man, Goku. Something about him just rubs me the wrong way. I'm a great judge of character and that man has never been any good. You seem to have forgotten the way he treated Bulma at our wedding. He was abhorrent."
Vegeta snorted as he got to his feet. "You say you're an excellent judge of character but always yell at me about my character. Why do you allow me around if I'm so terrible?" he asked.
Chichi crossed her arms. "Vegeta, you are many things but a man of questionable character you are not. You at least own your faults to a point. And though you are definitely one of Goku's more... unsavory friends, you are at least trustworthy and dependable."
"Yeah! You did help deliver Gohan," Goku said as he clapped a hand on Vegeta's shoulder.
Vegeta shrugged him off. "A truly traumatizing experience, I assure you," he said with a small shudder.
Bulma was putting on a new pair of fingerless gloves when the door to her dressing room opened. Juu had left her alone to go make sure her ride was ready. She looked over the top of the bouquets to see Frieza entering the room. She slipped on the last glove and stood up. "I must say that you've outdone yourself with these roses. Any particular reason for so many?" she asked as Frieza approached her. He stopped in front of her and leaned in for a kiss. Bulma immediately diverted her head. "I just got my makeup redone, Frieza."
Frieza frowned momentarily but the expression was short-lived. He watched as Bulma walked around him and began gathering her wristlet and cellphone. He reached in his pocket. "Bulma, there's something I've been meaning to ask."
"What's that?" Bulma held her flowy white dress up and slipped on her heels. She faced Frieza to see him holding out a small jewelry box. "What's that?" she repeated. Frieza placed the box in her hand. Bulma sighed inwardly and opened it.
"Well?"
Bulma struggled to find words as she stared at the impressive engagement ring. It was at least 10 carats. She found herself wondering where Frieza got the money to buy such a ring. "I... don't know what to say, Frieza. It's beautiful," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Frieza took the ring from her and slid it on her finger. "Just say..."
"Bulma, we're ready for you. Hi, Frieza. Will you be riding with us?" Juu entered the room with a few other men. She began directing them to gather the flowers up and where to put them.
"No, I'll drive there myself." Frieza pecked Bulma on her forehead. "See you there."
Juu came up beside Bulma as Frieza left the room. "Seems like he was in a good mood. Any reason why?" She looked at Bulma. Even with the faint blush on her cheeks, Bulma looked incredibly pale.
The pianist shook her head slowly. "No reason that I can think of. Let's go."
