His Inheritance

What We Need

The soft notes of Chopin's Fantaisie-Impromptu greeted you when you stepped out of your room and headed for the stairs for dinner. It was just after six. You just knew if you made him wait any longer, there'd be another confrontation.

Not that the one earlier today was so terrible...

No. You weren't going to think about that kiss. Again.

Dyson waited at the foot of the stairs, looking dapper in his gray suit and red tie. He flashed you a warning look as you descended.

His gaze assessed you, fatherly where Steve's was...

Stop.

You'd made an effort. You wore dark slacks, a nice blouse. You'd dressed up, hoping it would earn you points. You put on makeup, did your hair. You could tell yourself all you wanted that you weren't trying to be attractive for Steve but...

"You look lovely," Dyson told you as reached the bottom of the stairs.

As he always did, he directed you. Gesturing towards the living room, you expected to see Clint playing the piano, the dining room table beyond it set. All was as you expected.

But Steve stood next to the piano, talking to two newcomers. One was a beautiful woman with red hair and a winning smile. Next to her was a man with curly dark hair and a deep voice. His dark eyes were friendly when he noticed your arrival.

With everyone's attention on you, you took a deep breath and made your way over to them. You didn't miss the way Steve's gaze moved slowly over you.

"There she is," he said finally, wrapping an arm around your shoulder when you reached him and pulling you into his side like it was habit.

"You finally get to meet my sister, Natasha," Steve told you as she switched her champagne glass to her left hand to offer you her right.

She was impossibly more beautiful close-up. You shook her hand, told her it was nice to meet her.

"And her husband, Bruce Banner," Steve continued.

You also shook his hand, his firm grip reminding you of your father.

"I'm sorry about your father," Bruce said after a moment. "He helped me out when I graduated college. Put me on the path to being a consigliere."

Okay, you'd seen The Godfather. He was a mafia lawyer then?

Some confusion must have shown on your face. Natasha laughed, taking a sip of her champagne. "He's Steve's consigliere," she amended. "And a good one."

"That he is," Steve conceded. "Which reminds me, Bruce. We need to discuss a couple of things. Why don't we knock that out now so we can enjoy the rest of the evening?"

Bruce nodded. "Lead the way."

"We won't be long," Steve told you, brushing a kiss on your forehead before leading Bruce off to his study.

That left you right in Natasha's sites. While her gaze was as razor-sharp as her brother's, her smile was disarming and warm.

"You are not what I expected," she told you, motioning to the plush sofa and taking a seat. When she motioned for you to join her, you did.

"I can imagine what you expected," you told her.

A young man wandered in from the kitchen, a fresh tray of loaded champagne flutes balanced on it. You accepted one from him, needing the courage it offered.

"Did you know?" she asked you.

You took your time, sipping at the fizzy drink.

"Did I know my father told everyone I was Quasimodo?" When Natasha laughed, you shook your head. "No. I didn't."