Summary: After baring his soul, Vegeta awaits Bulma's response to his marriage proposal. Meanwhile, her political adversary plots to consolidate power - perhaps by any means necessary.

Sorry about the posting hiatus. Personal stuff happened, and then I got fussy before publishing. Don't worry, y'all. The story won't disappear!

Bulma sobbed, hiding her face. "I…I don't know what to say."

After she kneeled to join him, Vegeta slid the ring onto her left hand. No one would ever accuse his way of loving her as starry-eyed, but holding Bulma brought forth matchless and profound peace – the kind Vegeta once believed wasn't meant for him. Yes, working and caring for family brought great satisfaction and purpose to his life. And yes, his mother and brother and daughter made him proud by being good, loving people. Yet, for so long, the phantom of inadequacy taunted him: you could still end up like your father; don't trust in others too much; don't think you're so special; good enough is never good enough.

Before Bulla's birth, during his bleakest mental detours, Vegeta felt it wouldn't have mattered whether he lived or died. He shared that secret with Cricket in the months before her death, admitting his shame. His mother understood all too well, confessing struggles with those same feelings as a child and young woman. But now, Vegeta's wide-open heart gave him strength.

"Let me assist," he said, moving back. "'Yes, I will marry you' would be fitting."

"Yes, Mr. Rutledge." Bulma said, hugging him. "Yes, I will marry you." .

About an hour later Krillin arrived, waving a fireworks sparkler and blowing on a toy whistle. Bulma and Vegeta had moved to an enclosed shelter, talking at a table underneath a cluster of dim light bulbs.

Bulma removed Krillin's hat, kissing his head all over as he blushed. "Devil. You were in on this scheme from the start."

Krillin held her hand, admiring the engagement ring. "Scheme? No way! You make such a happy moment sound so sneaky. This, my friend, is the first of many celebrations."

Vegeta quietly watched their pleasant chatter. Given his reserved expression, one could have misjudged the joy he felt, though some sadness stirred inside of him. His mother came to mind. You were right, Cricket. Wish you were here to say, "I told you so."

Riding back to the mansion, Bulma became the silent one. Their hands were joined, but she appeared pensive.

Vegeta lifted her chin for a kiss. "Preoccupied or overwhelmed?"

"I don't like either of those words, Vegeta. They sound negative. You just proposed to me."

Undiscouraged, Vegeta became her playful "tomcat," pawing at her thighs with an oh-so-serious air of royalty. "OK. Try these. Engrossed? Reflective? Absorbed?"

"Are you finished?"

"Recall that I beat you at our eighth-grade spelling bee. We could do this all night. How long has it been since you re-memorized Webster's Dictionary?"

"Re-memorized? Oh grow up, Vegeta! Which edition of Webster's? English does change."

"I'm not hearing an answer."

"Five years ago."

"Five?!" Vegeta crawled backward, appearing aghast. He had significant experience in witholding laughter when he most wanted to. "You're losing ground. I was thinking at least three, maybe."

"God help me. Is this how life will be when we're married?"

"What the question again?" Vegeta scratched behind his ear. "I can't hear too well. Something about you getting married? Congratulations!"

Bulma pinched his lips shut. "My love for you wouldn't stop me from committing murder if necessary."

Vegeta removed her hand. "Now that I have your attention, my guess is you want the full car wash - engagement dinners, big wedding, decent rock band. I know my kid is dying to help with the plans."

"I would prefer a wedding where my new husband sticks around after we take our vows. I can't imagine you grinning like a circus showman through all that."

"I wouldn't, but I'd stick around so you could. Nappa's wife is a skilled baker. I'll eat myself into a coma."

"You think Donna would do that for us?"

"Cater? Oh yeah. You've seen Nappa. He's not hurting for hearty meals."

"I don't want a society event, Vegeta. I'm in the public eye enough. Just us and a handful of people we like and care about is best."

Vegeta reclined. "I hoped you would say that."

"You knew I would," Bulma replied with effervescent laughter.

"Husbands are more useful when they temper their assumptions. I… walked away from what we could have had years ago because I assumed, wrongly."

As the mansion's tidily manicured cul-de-sac came into view, Bulma's ring-clad hand plucked the straps of her new fiancée's overalls. "You staying overnight?"

"Would you be upset if I said no?"

"Nope," Bulma hummed puckishly, "but let's play a game over the next few weeks." Vegeta's straight face made her giggle. "Oh, stop looking me like that."

"Whatever shenanigans you're planning deserve my suspicion, Bulma. I don't care if folks generally know about our relationship, but we -"

Bulma bounced on the car seat like an unruly child. "Weren't you the one who suggested skinny dipping earlier? Having pictures taken of us bare-ass naked in a lake by some scoundrel would draw more unwanted attention than what I have in mind for us."

Vegeta sighed. "All right. What is it that you want now?"

"A vulture's hunt for my lingerie. We won't have sex until you find the complete set. The clues won't be easy, but you're smart enough."

Vegeta's brow twitched, weighing her proposition. He opened the privacy barrier. "Krillin, I'm not staying tonight. Gotta see my kid, who's probably waiting up for me. Just give us a few more minutes back here and I'll get my car."

Krillin glanced back. "Naw. Naw, Vegeta. Once the governor gets inside, I'll walk with you to the garages. I promise I won't talk your ears off."

Vegeta trusted that Krillin would keep that promise, conveying much about their mutual regard for each other. Bulma's legs crossed in Vegeta's direction after the privacy window closed. He pecked her cheek, lowering his voice to a sexy, sensuous whisper. Bulma's head fell forward on his chest with a gasp. Vegeta's naughty hand worked her over between her panties. She had enough determination not to tear her clothes off – or his - but not that much.

"Hell no. I have a store to run, with precisely scheduled breaks to daydream about those pretty panties and dainty negligees. You're not messing up my routine, and I play to win. Take that to bed with you, governor. Sweet dreams."

Bulma held his ears. "You will pay for your sins."

"We'll sin all you want after marrying," Vegeta said, unlocking their doors. "Oh, uh, zip up those overpriced jeans. I don't want us arrested for indecent exposure."

Afterward, Krillin joined Vegeta on the veranda for some stargazing. Hesitance nagged him, given his earlier promise not to prattle. If Vegeta got prickly, he'd merely back off.

"You… all right, Rutledge?"

Vegeta glanced over, standing with his hands in his pockets. "About as all right as I'm going to be, Calloway. Now what is it that you want? Having too many people thinking I'm approachable for impromptu therapy sessions is tiring me out."

Krillin held onto a rail, looking down at a small vegetable garden he planted. "Look, this is all I have to say – at least for now – then you won't hear a word from me until after wedding."

"That's a horseshit lie, Krillin, though your unsought advice is less self-serving than some others I have in mind. However, I would like a few months alone with my wife before you start playing marriage counselor-shaman."

Like Nappa, Krillin couldn't marshal as much laughter. Though overjoyed by Vegeta and Bulma's long-awaited betrothal, the unrest in his spirit hadn't settled down as much as he had expected.

"Vegeta, just because Bulma lives her life this way doesn't mean you have to sacrifice a large part your right to care about how decisions are made."

"I don't think you have to worry about that."

Krillin's seriousness didn't waver. "I hope by now that you're hearing a friend talking to you – not just Bulma's friend."

"I've stood here long enough to listen," Vegeta replied, jingling his car keys. "Take that at face value."

The two men left for the garages, cracking jokes and kicking dirt plumes on each other's shoes.

Bulma was full of cheery hellos and hospitable smiles in the Capitol's corridor after her exciting weekend. Strawberry layer cakes had been delivered to the worker cafeterias around lunchtime. No one knew why, but since she paid out of pocket – and not with the state's money - everyone focused instead on the good eating to be had.

However, a stinger soon replaced Bulma's pleasantness as her three-inch heels clacked toward Ambrose's office. The odor of strong alcohol permeated the antechamber. After bolting the outside and inside doors, Bulma switched toward his desk. Ambrose's long legs were perched at an angle on the windowsill. His chair seemed to be gasping for air as he swiveled to greet her, showing zero surprise over the engagement ring. He preferred that Bulma not wear it this early, though he noted Vegeta's excellent taste in jewelry.

Following the men's heated disagreement, Ambrose expeditiously drafted a strategy to get ahead of press coverage about the engagement. Then he could continue with the governor's official business. He hoped the initial novelty of the couple's "coming out" wouldn't attract more interest until after her campaign declaration – which in his mind was the best time to maximize its influence. If those two were so dead set on marrying like head-in-the-clouds adolescents, then Ambrose preferred a quicker timeline: at a county courthouse, just after sunrise and maybe in a week's time.

Bulma's clamped right fist landed on his desk, scattering pens and pencils like toothpicks. "Let's press reset here. I don't have a fucking problem firing you on the spot!"

Ambrose leisurely waved toward the rhinoceros-sized leather chair beside her. "Now, I would expect that unfortunate result if you lost confidence in my leadership – or if I brought disgrace on this office. That's how it should be, but neither has happened yet. Oh, and take a load off those heels, governor. They're making my feet ache just from looking at them."

"Missouri sweet-talk won't get you far either," Bulma said stubbornly. "I am grown, and your misguided paternalism isn't doing you any favors. You had no right -"

"How many times are we going to argue like this?!" Red-faced, Ambrose stood. His wiry fingers spread like spider legs on the desk. "I goddamn do have every right, Bulma! Every fucking right. Every…fucking…right. This about your career and the rest of your life, not some Eat Pray Love bullshit-romance novel!"

Bulma glared, shoving a finger at him. "You know what happens when I speak quietly, Ambrose. I'm speaking quietly. One more petty, disrespectful remark like that, and you're packing your office here today. I mean it. Because I love you, I won't have the patrolmen throw your snowy-owl ass out on the street, in plain view."

"Oh my." Ambrose touched his chin with a grin, removing two travel-size bottles of Scottish whisky from his desk. "Attacking my hair color now? That's so beneath you, governor. You want this on ice or neat?"

"How many of those have you had today?"

"You should have this on ice, though some angry Scotsman would curse me for suggesting that."

"Ambrose!"

After politely handing her a tulip-shaped glass without ice, Ambrose spun around, watching a V-line of ducks. His window offered a spectacular view.

"Did I tell you that my ex-wife Karen remarried in Kansas City?" he said, inviting Bulma to observe. "Thing is, we're still in love, but please understand that she loves the new guy too - much. I'm happy for her."

Bulma sipped. "Cheating, drinking or working too much?"

"Cheating? Don't be cheeky, governor. None of the above. Our marriage ended because our needs are different. We tried to align them, especially because of our daughter, but it just did not work. Bronson, Karen's husband, helps her feel protected. I can't argue with that."

"Of all issues that could be worrisome for Vegeta and me, that wouldn't lead his inventory."

"Is that so?" Ambrose sat down, propping his feet on his desk. "It's a shame when one partner feels secure and happy while the other feels lost at sea. Vegeta loves you and would die for you, Bulma, but he doesn't deserve to dry up a like raisin if you marry - and he will, because you're moving fast.

"When we marry, Ambrose, not if, as indicated by this engagement ring."

"Psychology is a part of my duty, which includes protecting your interests. I know a lot more about Vegeta - and men like him - than you think."

"What, exactly, do you mean by men like him?"

"State government isn't your destination, Bulma. Governors who want to stay in the all-star game run for Congress or try to get noticed by the president – or just run for president."

Bulma raised her hand, speaking in a childlike voice. "Oh! Oh! Mr. Boone, please do explain more about high school civics to the Truman Scholar and juris doctor who hired you? It's not like we haven't discussed this a thousand times!"

"Tell me, governor, are you ready to slaughter everything you've accomplished, including that man's heart when he's left behind?"

Bulma's arms flew overhead. "Stop being melodramatic, Ambrose. I wouldn't leave Vegeta behind, and he… would never ask me to choose between him and what drives me."

"No, I reckon he wouldn't. He didn't when you were younger either. But this time Vegeta believes he's ready for the potholes and roadkill along that drive of yours, and that he won't be the nail that blows out a tire. You pay me for rough honesty, and the truth is that nail would be you, not Vegeta. Taking that walk outside with him ended my uncertainty about that. Return that ring and walk away."

"Have you considered that I don't want to be a spinster, drinking at the press club and telling ancient stories about my bygone political escapades?"

"I considered your fate years ago, hoping that your normally spot-on common sense would prevail. Marry someone who recognizes how hot the spotlights are now, Bulma. There… are other suitors."

"You mean Beau Jr.? That's absurd. He helps run one of the state's best research hospitals, living out his dream."

"Beau can do whatever the hell he wants, Bulma! Imagine crafting health-care policy in Washington with him that could save millions of lives. You'd be the next Franklin Roosevelt or Lyndon Johnson!"

After finishing her last drop of scotch, Bulma set her glass down. "I have plenty of female role models to emulate, thank you very much."

"Let me tell another story then!"

Bulma raised from the chair. "No, hon. You're not allowed to play the clever raconteur anymore today. This is... our last drink together. You're an exceptional person, but I can't enable in you this way."

"I can't see you ever being a teetotaler."

"That's true, but you've allowed drinking too much ingress. I can't afford to, and neither can you."

"Are you saying my brain is embalmed? You think everything I said – quite articulately, I might add - is fueled by alcohol? Do you think that little of me now because of Vegeta's psychological hang-ups'?"

"No, Ambrose. I'm saying your psychological extremes are sticking around much longer. You're my heart, and I will help you, but if you keep pushing my back against the wall, there will be consequences. You must be well to be present not only for me, but for yourself."

"It's not like you can drag me to an AA meeting, governor."

Bulma picked up a carry-on bag beside his desk. "Let's start with removing all bottles and bartending tools from your office. Give me the keys to every locked drawer and cabinet. I have no wish to wrestle for that pocket flask, but as of today, you're off from work for three weeks to rest and think. By law, being treated for substance abuse is a condition of employment and, by law, you can't be fired while seeking help."

"I know the law, Bulma."

"You don't have to stop working after the three-week hiatus – if that will keep you encouraged. Outpatient rehab is just fine, but my preference is you don't feel overly compelled to be my guardian in the office until you're on a stronger footing."

"What if I just walk away from all of this now?"

"Then you're demanding that I blowtorch my welfare and yours – the same argument you just made about my relationship with Vegeta. Hm, fancy that."

Bulma's final rebuke snuffed the elfin twinkle in Ambrose's eyes. Countless arguments never hurt like this. His back swayed as he faced the window.

"I'm…I'm not jealous. Vegeta is a fine man, but he said I'm not good enough to shine your daddy's shoes. Made me feel like dog shit. He hasn't been here fighting in the trenches all these years with you. I mean, look at Krillin even. He's followed you like a disciple through the wilderness."

"Now tell the truth," Bulma said, holding his hand. "Vegeta said you weren't couth. You both have, um, unique faults. Daddy could probably say the same of me by now - and you are jealous, Ambrose."

"But I'm not in love with you."

"I know, and as my fiancée said, you're not my daddy either. I understand you're doing what you think is best, but my choices aren't reflections of your successes or failures. Get your ego and health in order. I'll be in touch while you're off from work. Everything is confidential."

"By law," Ambrose said, choking up as Bulma hugged him. "Yes, I know."

"It's going to be OK. You hear me? I apologize for looking the other way for too long. You're still family. I want you to stick around."

Nappa swept the pavement and organized the merchandise outside the storefront more often, all tasks usually reserved for other employees. Vegeta didn't think much of it. Nappa led by example. That's why Vegeta promoted the good-humored fellow to be his second-in-charge.

Nappa's reasons for sidewalk duty, however, extended beyond being a responsible captain. Vegeta hadn't announced his engagement yet, but Nappa knew because his wife Donna first heard it from their son Charlie, who worked for the St. Louis-based jeweler where Bulma's ring was designed. Charlie hid in the jewelry store's storage room whenever Vegeta visited, laughing with his parents about it each time.

As the stars began their nighttime revue, Nappa listened with interest to a group of beer drinkers in front of a nearby bar. Vegeta had left work early to exercise with Bulla and have pizza, taking a break from the city's biweekly "Main Street at Night" events. Businesses usually stayed open later, and other activities lent to the evening's carnival-like atmosphere. Politicians from across the state visited too sometimes, shaking hands with the locals and swapping stories. Josh Marley was among them, wearing a red-and-white checkered lumberjack shirt, dungarees and sooty work boots – while smoking a pipe.

Nappa's eyes rolled. Marley had never worked construction, driven a long-haul truck, started a business or tended a farm a day in his life. Nothing wrong with dressing casually, or being wealthy, but the lieutenant governor appeared three times more countrified – from, like, the 1830s - than every person around him. But he talked a good game, testing his wordsmithing talents. Some listeners' heads bobbed, agreeing with Marley that not all citizens had prospered under certain government policies – ostensibly, those Bulma supported, though he didn't name her directly. He also said "stronger men" should step up and "take back what's theirs" - whatever that meant - and that he understood their unaddressed concerns.

Bulma nevertheless had a lot of male-voter support, and those "strong men" who preferred her leadership cast a jaundiced eye at Marley, shouting questions that never received straight answers. Some women in the bunch were either stone-faced or appeared supportive. To regain control, Marley waved, asking anyone to join him on a tour of Main Street. Unfortunately, he stopped in front of Black Orchid, smiling like a snake-oil salesman at Nappa, who protectively blocked the entrance while a few curious customers watched from inside. He'd allow them to leave, but Marley wasn't getting in.

Marley's hands rubbed together. "Hello, my friend! Lovely night, isn't it?"

Nappa patted down his apron. "Yes, sir. A lovely one."

Marley's arm extended skyward, directing everyone's attention to the storefront's design and merchandise. "You see this good-looking place, ladies and gentlemen? Some of you have likely shopped here. It appears to be the product of sweat and hard work that we can all appreciate."

"It definitely is," Nappa said, speculating about Marley's true intentions. He didn't expect anything good. That "appears to be" comment further fueled his suspicion.

"Well, we Missourians also appreciate fairness, not individuals attempting to game the system. I mean, we all understand the difference between everyday politicians fairly serving their constituents versus those giving special treatment to the undeserving - or those who have more than enough."

Nappa imagined Marley's neck in place of the broomstick he held. So that's what he's up to? Underhanded bastard. Who, pray tell, might be receiving special treatment – and from whom?

Marley's long pause gave the implied message time to stew in the observers' minds: Sow a little doubt about the governor's trustworthiness and see who takes the bait. Nappa eyed the midsized crowd. No one attempted, however, to cast the first stone. Though his face dared no one, but Nappa's body conveyed "Don't even think about it." Those he recognized had been treated with nothing but genuine respect and helpfulness by his grumpy boss for years.

"Well now, Mr. Marley, given your family's substantial wealth and reputation for charity, I can understand your interest in fairness and caring for those with fewer privileges than yours. Please continue to be an honest steward of our tax dollars on the governor's business advisory task force."

Nappa's smile widened as Marley's narrowed. Nappa didn't take offense that the full-of-himself politician misjudged his intelligence and knowledge. He expected as much. A few customers leaving the store patted his back, stopping as another familiar face joined the gathering.

Bulma jumped up like an eager kitten, waving excitedly from the tail-end of the crowd. Krillin stood by her. "Well, hi there, everyone! Good to see you all enjoying the evening! Give our lieutenant governor a round of applause for keeping everyone entertained."

Nappa glanced at Josh, who was forced to accept the multiple buckets of cold water dumped on his little parade. Some crowd-goers clapped and smiled as Bulma confidently strode next to her second-in-command.

"Having fun, Josh?" she whispered, knocking elbows.

Marley leaned over, clapping much slower. "Considerably. Good of you to join us, Bulma. No… guests?"

"You and I haven't done the Main Street stroll together for a while, so it's a great moment to show some camaraderie, hmm? We piss each other off at times, but we're not enemies."

"Of course not!" Josh said, clutching her waist. Onlookers' eyeballs moved in a tidal wave, focused on the unexpected gesture. Marley had never touched that way before. Some people raised their handheld phones to take pictures, including a reporter. Krillin hung back, along with a few officers, gnawing on a sassafras stick and surveying the surroundings. The hellraising discontents from the Sunshine Festival - if they were out at all - were dispersed. With Marley making the rounds, Krillin knew some had to be in the vicinity, and a few were on a law-enforcement watchlist, even a couple of ex-convicts who couldn't vote.

Given her gleaming smile, Bulma didn't seem annoyed by Josh's almost-intimate touch, though she was. Her curvy hair leapt in the breeze, adding to her physical radiance and charm. She soon extracted herself from Marley's prolonged and gradually more uncomfortable grasp with a firm shove from behind.

Nappa jumped into action, supplying cold bottles of soda to them, mostly to keep Marley's hands busy. He also noticed Bulma had no jewelry on except tiny diamond earrings.

Bulma crossed her arms and stamped, drawing the crowd's attention. "You know what, folks? My palms are itchy. How about Josh and I end the night with an old-fashioned duel?"

Marley blinked with interest as an older woman near the front laughed. "Now what kind of duel would that be?"

Bulma's fingertips bounced together. "Poker. Four players. Winner takes all. Money goes to charity."

A challenge was a challenge, and Josh believed his skills were above average. "Numbers three and four?" he replied loudly.

Two other visiting state representatives stepped up, a man and a woman.

Bulma shook hands with them. "Game on!"

Krillin snickered, watching his friend manipulate the strings of Josh's ego like a master violinist. He and other mansion workers laughed the next day at the front-page newspaper photo of Bulma's celebratory leap as Marley threw his cards down in anger.

Putting Vegeta's store in the limelight like that irked Bulma, predictably, though it didn't surprise her. Josh had fired a louder test shot from the dirty-tricks roster, and she put him in his place without declaring war. Attacking her personal life in public intensely this early in the game could backfire, they both knew. But Marley sent the clear message that when the time was right, he would aim for Bulma's jugular and those of her loved ones. Josh knew conclusively that she and Vegeta were together, but in-your-face New York City-style antics to make their lives difficult would be frowned upon.

Vegeta showed up to work no more cranky than usual, though he had been fussing with the greenhouse's new-plant inventory much of the day. Most shoppers weren't in that part of the store. Nappa took big steps to announce his presence after the busiest hours passed.

"You can walk normally, Nappa. I don't have hearing loss."

"Sometimes you do selectively, boss."

Vegeta shunted his spade into a dirt mound as Nappa joined him. "Are you giving me a reason to selectively lose my hearing now?"

"Maybe, Vegeta."

Vegeta handed him another spade to continue working. "Proceed until I stop you, but if this is about last night, I suggest you recall what I said a while ago."

Nappa chuckled. "Harlan sent video of the poker game. She roasted that slimy fucker Marley like a pig on a spit."

"Hn. I expect no less. I do not play poker with Bulma for that reason. Her father taught her."

"The preacher?!"

Vegeta wiped his brow. "She may not be religious, but there's a lot him in her."

"Yeah. She still has some hold on the more pious folks, even."

"I'm done with small talk, Nappa. Marley is a shitty person with lots of ambition – no shocker in politics. I have nothing to hide, and…my... fiancée handed his ass to him, with a smile. Game over."

Nappa bent down, tickled over Vegeta's increasingly rosy cheeks. "What was that again, boss? I don't think I heard you correctly."

Vegeta didn't look at him. "Don't bullshit me. You've known all along."

Four weeks later, letters began to arrive.

One accused Bulma of having an abortion, citing medical records from her early post-law-school days. Ambrose received that one. Vegeta received a letter at the store, detailing a pill addiction Alejandra had hidden from almost everyone in her life, until the wrong someone decided to use that knowledge against her. Bulla received a package about her grandmother, saying Cricket had been a teenage prostitute. Juvenile detention records were included. A note also suggested that Vegeta could have been the product of a sexual assault.

The chaos agents were just getting started.

Confused and angry, Bulla didn't turn to her father at first. Vegeta couldn't have known. The girl had the presence of mind to speculate that such a heinous act was connected in some way to Bulma. On the other side, Vegeta had to hear from Alejandra himself before even considering a talk with Bulla.

Ambrose chewed on a cigar, wearing a bathrobe and brooding at home. He knew of Bulma's abortion, which was carried out because she was already going through a heartbreaking miscarriage. After recovering emotionally from their loss, Bulma and Beau left that part of their past behind. Neither felt ashamed, but digging up that deeply personal history was downright sadistic. Ambrose believed the knowledge was safely buried since so much time had passed. He'd also been in politics long enough to interpret implied messages, and this was designed shrewdly to rattle him: Was the governor's Doberman losing ferocity?

Bulma had been the only one unaware of these well-orchestrated cannon shots. No one planned to stay silent, but each target was trying to understand what just happened. Vegeta told Bulma he had "some things to work out" about Bulla in New Jersey with Alejandra. Though concerned, she trusted that he would explain more after arriving there. On the second evening after Vegeta had left town, Krillin picked her up from the Capitol, heading to the Yardley estate. Tarble, who had arrived on short notice, met her at the front, proceeding to the subterranean sitting rooms for privacy. After handing Bulma a glass of wine, he sat down, holding his left index finger and thumb over his lips.

"What's this trip about, Tarble? Did Vegeta tell you –-"

"About New Jersey? Yes, but I'm not here about that. Have you spoken with my niece recently?"

"Not at length. She's been busy with school and activities when I've seen Vegeta."

Tarble stiffly stood up. "No, Bulma. It's more than that. Someone lacking any conscience tried to traumatize her – and, by extension, her father. If I have to tell Vegeta that our mother was raped repeatedly, then you and Ambrose better come clean about anything else you know. Otherwise, I'll take matters into my own hands."

Horrified by the revelation, Bulma dropped her glass. Red wine pooled over the shards like fresh blood.