Previous chapter: Bulma argues with Gure about reuniting with Vegeta. Vegeta and Bulma give in completely to their attraction.

Krillin and Bulla delighted in their front-row tickets to the blossoming romance. Bulma's schedule remained jam-packed – courtesy of the restless souls vying for attention - but the governor buzzed around singing to herself, laughing boisterously and generally loving life. Vegeta was more reserved, of course, but just as happy. Going "off the grid" for private time was crucial. Sometimes Bulma stayed at Vegeta's home, or they met on longer weekends at a cabin in the Ozark Mountains. Restaurant dinners happened in back rooms.

Bulla felt welcome and comfortable with Bulma. She easily brought out her father's softer side but also could be an emotional twister. After watching Vegeta cater to Bulma, the extent of her father's loneliness for a companion touched her heart. She burst into tears while hiking with Vegeta in the mountains during a Thursday-to-Monday trip. Bulma rested at their cabin after visiting a hot-springs cave.

Alarmed, Vegeta swiftly turned, sizing her up. "What's wrong?!"

Bulla wiped her pink-tinted eyes, sniffling. "I'm just in my feelings today. That's all."

"Stay closer behind or walk next to me," Vegeta said with fatherly crossness. "I can't have your feelings scaring the shit out of me like that, especially in the woods."

"I'm sorry, daddy."

Vegeta struck her hiking stick to continue walking. "Telling me what's bothering you would be a proper apology."

"I just want you to be happy."

Vegeta braced himself. Teenager heart-to-heart talks are a good parent's job, but this discussion could go anywhere, he thought. "Define happy, Bulla."

"Granny said you should have married Bulma years ago."

"Your granny meddled a lot. How much do you know?"

"I'm being serious."

"I know you are. Did Cricket guess why we split up?"

Bulla grew quiet, deliberately hitting a few rocks along the way. "Granny believed that you thought you weren't good enough to stay with Bulma. We discussed it about a month before she went into hospice. Told me different things about you and Bulma and why you weren't speaking to each other. She apologized to me later for probably saying too much."

"There's some truth to what your grandmother said," Vegeta replied.

"But why? You're just as smart as Bulma. Your personalities have differences, but she's made you smile more than I've ever seen… since… I was little."

Vegeta grasped her arm. "Look at me, Bulla. You've given my life more meaning since the first day I held you at the hospital. Do not compare that to my feelings for Bulma. As for happiness, it's my duty to ensure that on my own, not yours. You hear me?"

"Yes," Bulla said, tearing up again.

Vegeta exhaled, shaking his head. "What is it now, girl? Let's get to walking. Maybe more exercise can shrink your tear ducts."

Bulla hugged him. "Will you make me visit mom?"

"I believe you should. Your grandfather and I didn't bond properly, and you know why. It sounds strange, but the older you get, the more you need your parents in different ways."

Vegeta wouldn't allow Bulla's hope for an exciting, loving stepmother to exclude Alejandra from her life. The woman deserved a complete hearing from their daughter, he believed.

"Bulma said she wants to cook tonight."

Vegeta gulped. "Did…did she say what time? I planned to make dinner. We have more than enough for the grill."

Baffled, Bulla blinked. "What's wrong? If we're not dining out or at the mansion, you cook most of the time - even when you're tired - or we make frozen food from the wholesale club."

Thankful that he still had cellular access, Vegeta entered crisis mode. "Bulma can make salad."

Bulla leapt for his phone. Astonished at being tackled, Vegeta tossed her over his shoulder.

Bulla hollered. "What are you doing?! Have you lost your marbles?! Let me go!"

"No!" Vegeta barked. "Close your mouth, girl! You will be grateful. Bulma is a terrible cook!"

Insulted and stubborn on Bulma's behalf, Bulla fought back. "How would you know?! You haven't been together in years!"

"Our history and present-day accounts are enough," Vegeta said, putting her on a rock. "You've had free rein in my kitchen since you were ten, Bulla. Bulma's father wouldn't allow her near a stove. Do you think the mansion's staff hasn't dropped hints to me? Krillin almost choked to death on a pot roast she made. He also showed me a pan of bone-dry cornbread for more evidence. I never sought this information!"

"Hn," Bulla huffed. "How can Bulma improve if no one allows her to make mistakes - or tells her the truth?"

"You have a lot to learn about bumblebee, kid. I'm certain she's aware her cooking sucks. This is about Bulma's pride. If she allowed someone to help, of course she'd improve. But to be fair, Bulma never wanted to be a Betty Crocker-type homemaker. She shouldn't have to be, either. Neither should you, Bulla, but I want a harmonious, tasty meal tonight - and that's final."

Bulla pouted. "All right."

Vegeta dialed, holding a finger on his lips. "You have two choices, governor. We're preparing dinner together, or I do everything - except the salad and washing dishes." He moved the phone away, counting the minutes as Bulma's litany of complaints and objections blared through the speaker. "May I get a word in, please?! My god take a breath, woman! Thank you! I want pot roast. It's in the back of the fridge."

Bulla ran behind a cluster of bushes, laughing. Vegeta smiled devilishy as Bulma mumbled and hung up.

"So, I guess I'm making salad," Bulla said.

"And washing dishes," her father replied. "We're grilling the roast. Takes about ninety minutes from prep to finish. Walk faster. We'll be doomed if Bulma's pigheadedness fires up again."

Bulla glanced at her father's lower right side. "I wish you didn't have that gun all the time on these out-of-town trips. Those patrollers may like you, but I can see their discomfort, especially because it's concealed. Most guns don't keep people safe. The science is out there. You studied science."

"Did Bulma tell you her father taught her how to use a shotgun when she was twelve?"

Bulla's eyes rolled. "Stop deflecting! You can fight without a handgun. I could even accept a knife."

"A knife? Really? Antonia Bulla Rutledge, you're entitled to your opinion. You're also assuming I haven't read the science that's out there. Science also teaches you that not everything is black and white. Test, test, test."

"All I'm hearing right now is bullshit, daddy."

Bulla deserved a better answer, but Vegeta couldn't budge on this choice. Many families had rifles where he grew up. He carried a glock. "I am ambivalent about firearms, but…I'm also unprepared to surrender my ownership. I agree that some laws should be changed. I promise that we'll debate more after we're back home. We're here to have good time, remember?"

Bulma and Ambrose were speaking on the phone when the two arrived, irritating Vegeta. He made a right turn into the kitchen after a brief nod. Bulla disapproved of his reaction. Instead of agitating him, though, she hopped over to Bulma, who ended her call.

Bulla felt uneasy as Bulma's head stayed down. "You OK?"

"Yes, sweetie. Your father isn't, apparently."

"Eh, let him be grouchy. He'll feel better once dinner starts. Bulma, look, I'm not the type to hold back with questions, but I'll usually accept when some stuff can't be discussed – if explained properly."

Bulma smiled. "You might make a fabulous lawyer. What's your question?"

"Ambrose never calls on our trips. Daddy should have noticed that. Did something happen back home?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it bad. People have the right to speak their minds about our government – and be angry. Protestors showed up at the Capital Sunshine Festival. Some got rowdy as the lieutenant governor spoke, making strange and nasty comments about me. A few bad apples—"

"Can spoil the whole bunch," Bulla said, "Yeah, I know. Put your poker face on, though, if you're not planning to tell my father yet. Your face isn't as unreadable as his when he chooses to hide his feelings."

Bulma held the girl's knee. "Don't worry. Marley handled the problem, and you remind me so much of your granny at times. I'm not highly upset."

Bulla didn't believe her, checking her phone's newsfeed. Josh Marley may have "handled" those roughnecks, calming their loutish behavior, but he didn't completely discourage them from chanting ugly expletives and inaccuracies about Bulma. That stoked Ambrose's sulfurous anger and unsettled other legislators, including several who disagreed with the governor's views. Some police officers at the event seemed to be smiling, but the more professional-looking ones outnumbered them.

None of this frightened Bulla, but the ruckus would be all over the news for days, and Bulla wondered how her father would react. She hid Vegeta's new smartphone in a rolltop desk for the evening. He rarely forgot the location of his possessions, but Bulla trusted her skills. She'd return the phone to its original location later. It wouldn't be on his mind that night. Bulma wouldn't likely discuss the festival problem until they were in bed, when Vegeta would be more relaxed.

Bulma stood after Vegeta returned. A speck of a kiss followed, after their hands joined.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Vegeta didn't bother seeking Bulla's backup to squeeze a quick answer out of Bulma. His daughter had evidently chosen sides.

"After dinner," Bulma said as they entered the kitchen. "You ready to cook?"

Vegeta's plan worked well. He got the feast he wanted, and his two favorite women bonded over their jokes about him. He didn't respond to their barrage, courteously taking their dessert plates. Bulla nearly leapt out of her skin as he kicked the kitchen door open like a commando, armed with a gigantic can of sprayable whipped cream.

"Bulma, duck!" Bulla shouted, diving underneath the table.

"You're mine, you ungrateful traitor!" Vegeta roared over his daughter's laughter-filled screaming. Whipped cream flew everywhere as Bulla crawled between the chairs. "You too, woman!"

"The hell I am!" Bulma shot back. She dodged Vegeta's sprays like a pro boxer, making a run with Bulla to the cellar, banging on a switch to transform the stairs into a slide. The entrance, however, didn't open. Bulma and Bulla turned with their hands sprawled across the doors as Vegeta shook his can with purpose.

"I'm disappointed in you," the hunter placidly told his cornered prey. "You both have remote bracelets to open the cellar. Where are they?"

Bulla and Bulma glanced at each other, astounded by his trickery. Surrendering to such an attack was unthinkable.

"Get em!" Bulma ordered, charging at Vegeta's abdomen like a linebacker. She got a face full of whipped cream as Bulla whisked behind father, jumping on his back to seize the can. Vegeta shoved the container under his arm, shielding himself from the women's bombardment. Then his arms flew open, throwing Bulla and Bulma off with the delight – and mocking laughter - of an anime villain.

Pleased with his artwork, Vegeta jogged to the kitchen for cleaning supplies. "Go shower! I'll clean up."

Dripping wet and gummy all over, Bulma and Bulla scowled. He may have won the battle, but the not the war.

Vegeta entered the bathroom attached to the main bedroom from the back, assuming Bulma had to be asleep. A couple hours passed before the sugary mess he created disappeared through strong cleaning, so he was ready for a good night's rest. Bulma's lavender bath oil perfumed the shower, making him sleepier. Resting his head on the tiles, he sighed as multiple muscles unwound from the hot shower's massaging spray. He opened a screened window to release more steam. The forest air was perfection. He entertained thoughts about a quieter existence after the demands of Bulma's current political interests ended. Holding the same office at ninety years old didn't appeal to her. Neither of them judged politicians (the good ones) who chose that route, but Bulma had much to give in other ways.

"Want some company?"

"Not if you're still sticky," Vegeta said, locking the shower entrance. "You'll attract ants that way."

"Ass. Open this door right now. My nipples are hard, and you know I bathed already."

"Not my problem. Besides, you'll dry out your skin."

"Vegeta!"

Vegeta pulled Bulma inside as soon as the door unlatched, kissing her neck and shoulders. Thunder rumbled outside as the shower rained down on them. Time stopped as their mutual desire energized and uplifted them, bringing them closer. The curliness of Bulma's hair increased as the water bounced across it. Vegeta's soft, comforting lips forced other concerns into the shadows. Her hands kneaded his relaxed muscles, clutching and pressing soothingly. Their hearts beat in sync for a time. Bulma's head reclined on the tile as Vegeta's left hand held her lower back, while the right caressed her swelling labia and clit. Her trance-like silence encouraged him. He turned off the shower, listening to the rising and receding tides of her breath. Bulma's graceful eyes and lips reopened, seeking continuance.

They kissed hungrily, but neither focused on conquering or possession. The aroma of pine trees wafted in as a robust rainfall commenced. The lower half of Vegeta's body felt full. He lifted Bulma's leg over his, penetrating her. Their eyes joined, lips parting. He began slowly, intuitively interpreting the slackening of Bulma's arms around his neck. She needed considerable relief – from what, he didn't know – but his determination to aid her intensified. Bulma's head laid on shoulder.

"You all right?"

"Mmm hmm," she said heavily, closing her eyes. "Don't stop. Please." Warm, sticky fluid glided from inside as Vegeta subdued her unrest, pressing deeper. His hips and thighs guided Bulma through her erotic release. He pushed the shower door open, carrying her into their bedroom.

Bulma stopped him at the front of the bed. "Sit down."

Confused at first, Vegeta stayed quiet. Bulma smiled, assuring him that he had pleased her. What she had in mind dawned on Vegeta as she kneeled on the floor, stairing up at him.

He touched her cheek with a chuckle. "I guess I shouldn't worry so much." But as enjoyable as the sex was, he still felt ill at ease about Bulma's state of mind.

"You knew exactly what I needed," she replied, bringing his dick into her mouth.

Vegeta's muscles grew taut and then eased. He dissolved into bliss as Bulma's tongue lapped the folds and slanted tip. His fingers swam through her hair as the storm quieted. His hips edged forward, bucking slightly, even as he tried to restrain the growing urge to push harder into Bulma's mouth. He had to take it all in, relishing the pleasurable buildup as much as Bulma reveled in hers during their shower.

Bulma wanted him to let go, though. Her fingers and mouth curled around the most sensitive areas, massaging him into a rising moan. More fluid flowed into her mouth as Vegeta's dick hardened. His lengthy thrusts quickened, consumed by her tongue's humid silkiness. Bulma's eyes stayed on him, observing his descent into a waking dream. Vegeta drove farther inside of her mouth, thighs rocking forward. His head sloped back, breaking completely free. He grasped Bulma's hair tightly, pushing farther and farther. Groaning, panting, trembling and wild-eyed rapture possessed Vegeta as Bulma steered him to orgasm's edge. He came repeatedly, spilling semen first into the Bulma's mouth and all over her chest. Bulma smiled, wiping herself down before settling into bed beside him.

Vegeta kissed her and promptly fell asleep.

After retrieving his previously hidden phone, a news podcast Vegeta listened to most mornings answered his questions. Rather than mentioning the protest and Marley's behavior, he brought Bulma's favorite dark roast coffee to the deck before sunrise, preparing for their return to Jeff City.

Bulma sipped from the thermos while he held her from behind. "Thanks."

"I might regret giving you that," he said, sneaking in a kiss. "Maybe it should have been decaf."

"Bite your tongue." Bulma snuggled in his embrace, feeling safe and protected. However, her mind's alcoves engaged in a clandestine dialogue, almost like a computer's background process.

Being with Vegeta was pure heaven, but was she becoming too comfortable? She didn't look forward to the likely argument with Ambrose over her absence and the lieutenant governor's response.

Vegeta picked up her travel bags. "Well, I guess we better get going."

"Did you listen to news this morning, Vegeta?"

Vegeta stopped at the deck's stairs, looking back. "Ambrose... did the right thing by calling. It's his job. I'm ready to discuss what happened when you are."

Bulma smiled. "I'm not rattled by the rabblerousers. I mean, no one told me to run for office. I made the choice. How… are you? It's the first time anything like that has ever happened to me."

Bulma wasn't lying, Vegeta believed, but the rabble most certainly rattled her.

"Politics has never been for the faint-hearted," he replied, "and hecklers help you grow chest hair."

Bulma broke out laughing, accidentally inhaling a mouthful of coffee. Vegeta dropped the bags, running up the stairs to help. Bulma, now bent over, couldn't stop coughing or catch her breath.

"Stand up straight for me, Bulma." He raised her arms. "Inhale. Exhale."

Bulla ran outside behind them. "Is she all right?"

"She'll be fine," Vegeta said, keeping his eyes on Bulma's skin tone. "Choked on her coffee because I couldn't keep my big mouth shut. Would you mind cleaning up that mess with the thermos please?"

Bulla had run inside for cleaning supplies before her father finished. Couldn't ask for more wonderful kid, he thought proudly.

Bulma's coughing sputtered out, replaced by hoarse breathing. "I'm OK, hon. I'm all right."

"Bulma, you should have high-tailed it back here after I called!"

"What's done is done, Ambrose!"

"Like hell it is! You don't get to run off and play dollhouse like normal people! You ain't a neophyte or normal, governor, and this is an abnormal time."

Bulma's teeth gnashed. "Play dollhouse? Your sexism is showing, jackass. Don't get too comfortable. You better clean up that foul attitude."

Ambrose's hands spread wide over his hips. "Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me, Bulma?"

"Of course I do."

"Have a seat, then."

Bulma's purse landed with thump on the park bench, just like her backside. She usually carried old handbags to treat like punching bags on days when intense quarrels with her chief of staff were unavoidable. Ambrose sat beside her, leaning over on his knees so Bulma could look down at him.

"How long did you wait to tell Vegeta about what happened? No evasions or excuses please, madam."

Bulma sighed. "He heard on the news before we left in the morning. Waited for me to bring up the subject. When I did, he complimented you on doing your job."

Ambrose laughed, opening a leather cigar case. "You'll have to pardon my skepticism about that, but Vegeta doesn't seem like the type to compliment people for just doing what they're supposed to do. I suspect, then, that he was unhappy when I called at first."

Ignoring Ambrose's accurate guess about Vegeta's attitude, Bulma tousled his wavy white hair, surrendering to her annoyed-younger-sister urge. "I made an executive decision. I needed this getaway more than Vegeta and Bulla did, really. What happened at the festival wasn't a three-alarm fire."

"See, that's where you're wrong," Ambrose said, lighting a half-finished cigar. "You saw the video and follow-up interviews. That stubborn, impertinent little fuck Marley is playing both sides with those people. He doesn't give a squirrel's hairy asshole about anyone other than himself. We absolutely cannot let him gain any ground, even with those who haven't voted for you, or dig up people who haven't voted in years to support him. That's why you should have attended the festival this year."

Bulma opened a box of maple-syrup praline candy to satisfy her stress-induced sugar cravings. "I have high approval ratings with constituents, and Marley isn't that close to announcing his candidacy."

Ambrose blew several smoke rings, reclining. "Yeah. But after this mess, the campaign should try a new firm to design different opinion polls and organize focus groups with a broader range of citizens before you declare that you're running for office again. Plus, it will help us monitor the temperature of this nastiness directed at you. More importantly, you and Vegeta better get your acts together if you're staying together. You will be a political couple even if he stays in the background. You, Bulma, cannot hesitate to disclose what he should know straight and quickly. You got me, sugar?"

Bulma nodded, getting up. "Yes, sugar. Now, are you ready for our early dinner down the street with Missouri's venerated second-in-command?"

Ambrose's arm stretched out to escort her. "I'm always up for a coliseum battle whilst dining on medium-rare steak. That said, I'll be watching our drinks in case Marley tries to poison them."

"I'll be having water," Bulma said. "You will too. That's an order."

Ambrose frowned. "Fine, but I'll still be vigilant about our non-alcoholic beverages."

Neither attempted to be too extroverted as the restaurant's maître d' ushered them to their reserved table. Josh Marley, sipping on a glass of red wine, greeted them with a florid, buoyant smile. A bottle of pricey whiskey the lieutenant governor ordered earlier had been placed near Ambrose's assigned seat.

"I know you're quite partial to a good spirit," he said, winking at Ambrose as if they were longtime pals. "Now, governor, I understand you've developed a taste for California wines. This merlot I have here is delicious. Would you like a glass or a bottle?"

The shameless flatterer's sharp eyes appeared bizarrely fixated on Bulma - but then relaxed.

"Neither," she replied, "but thanks for the recommendation, Josh."