Give us a chance? (Natasha Romanoff x Fem reader)

Anger Management

A/N: Watch out, this chapter contains Y/N's father, do I need to say more?

Y/N's POV:

We arrive and my parents are already sat across from each other on a table meant for at least 20 people. They both look at us like we're teenagers arriving late at class.

We sit next to them, mumbling an apology. I'm next to my father and Nat's close to my mother.

"What have you done of your afternoon, ladies?" My mother says to start the conversation as she removes the silver cloche on her plate and we all follow the motion.

"We skated, I hadn't done that in a very long time. It was fun." Nat says locking eyes with me, making me blush and look at my food.

"Yeah, the ice is nice isn't it?" My father comments.

"I didn't spend much time looking at it... but I guess the texture was nice to skate on, yeah." She chuckles awkwardly, but goes on. "What makes it so pretty to you?" Nat says with a light and joking tone.

"Oh, I don't skate." My father states. "I just found the ice very clean compared to the public one we privatized for Therese before we built one." He explains as if nothing, then he takes a bite of his food, humming at the flavors. "How do you find the rest of the place so far?" He asks.

"It's beautiful, there's no denying that. But it is also pretty snooty." Nat dares say, it won't even have lasted a minute before this went downhill.

"Pardon?" My parents both say.

"I think Natasha meant that she isn't used to do much mo-" I hopelessly try to save it.

"I'm sorry if I wasn't clear, honey. I totally meant that the look of your infrastructures make it feel like you only want to show everyone who passes by that you are fucking rich." Nat repeats herself stubbornly, I mean I can't blame her. "You don't skate and I doubt you ride horses or play tennis or whatever other rich people's sport you have access to. Do you even need more than one living room or such a huge dining table? Because the way I see it, you don't treat your guests very respectfully, I doubt you got some often." Oof. He can't answer something like that can he?

"Oh!" My mother squeals dramatically.

My father gathers his most intimidating voice to say his next words. "I'm going to have to ask to ask you to apologize, young lady." He requests.

"For what?" Nat says, playing dumb.

"For how you're treating the master of this house!"

"Maybe I'll do it when you'll have apologized to your daughter, but then again why should you apologize? It's not like you're making her feel ashamed of who she is, right?" I think her plan is to destroy his ego until he dies. At this rhythm, the man might just die in the next minute.

Silence rings in the room.

The tension is too much for me. "Alright. We got it, you're both very stubborn and won't say sorry. Let's talk about something else, shall we?" I suggest, but the silence stays as they never break eye contact. I sigh and look at her. "Nat." Nothing. "Natasha." Still nothing. "Romanoff." This breaks her from her staring contest with my father and she directly looks at me with worry in her eyes. "Let it go, it won't work." She goes to rebut me, but I don't let her. "Please."

She sighs heavily, but listens. "What did the 2 of you do this afternoon?" She asks, moving on.

"Well," my mother starts finishing a bite of her food. "Vincent and I went to the spa and even got messages from our employees there, it was lovely."