The Paleys (1921-1927) - An Alternate Romanov Story

Growing Pains

Gatchina, June 1921

Natalia

If Irina and Feodor wanted to keep their little romance hidden, they were doing a terrible job at it. Feodor wasn't even supposed to be there, anyway. This was Tata's eighteenth birthday party, the guestlist was extremely selective and none of them had been expecting FEODOR, out of all the people in the world, to be there.

Natalia hadn't even been sure if they had any sort of relationship. The fact that they had confessed their feelings to each other and shared a kiss almost a year before, was the only tangible evidence she possessed. Sure, there were cryptic mentions by Irina – she said Feodor was visiting the same beach they always went to when they were in Cannes, that he had returned to Ai-Todor in the Spring, but that his father needed him around the estate, so he couldn't be spared – but ultimately, his absence in Petrograd fueled Natalia's scepticism.

Yet, all doubt evaporated the moment Feodor materialized in the grand ballroom of the Gatchina Palace. Natalia had been in mid-conversation with Irina when the colour drained from her sister's face. Turning, Natalia saw Feodor at the doorway, a nervous energy radiating from him. His eyes scanned the room frantically, searching, until they landed on Irina.

Feodor moved forward, trying to maintain a calm and steady pace, but his legs had a mind of their own and they propelled him forward in a hurried manner, his steps echoing in the ballroom. Irina remained rooted in place, like a statue. Natalia couldn't help but find amusement in this, her lips twitching into a small smile as she watched Feodor's eyes shine with adoration for Irina. With a knowing smirk, Natalia gracefully stepped aside, creating a small stage for the long-awaited reunion.

When he finally reached Irina, their gazes locked in a wordless conversation that transcended the noise of the party. A million unspoken words hung in the air between them, telling a story of longing letters, and a summer kiss none of them had forgotten. And then, Feodor's voice broke the spell, filled with raw emotion: "Irina," he breathed out.

Natalia had to take another look at Feodor. There was something different about him, a change that she couldn't quite put her finger on. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself now in his uniform, standing tall and confident compared to the scruffy boy she had known during their time in Ai-Todor. Or maybe it was his commanding presence in the crowded ballroom that caught her attention. Whatever it was, time had been kind to him.

Then, something shifted in the air. A hint of realization appeared on Irina's face, accompanied by a blush creeping up her cheeks. Even Feodor seemed to snap out of their private bubble, scanning the room with nervous glances. The weight of curious eyes fell upon them, mingled with gasps of surprise and whispers of gossip. It hit them both suddenly - they were no longer alone. With a sheepish cough and matching blushes, Feodor and Irina were forced to confront their true feelings under the scrutinizing gaze of the ballroom attendees. The facade they had built around their romance crumbled, leaving them exposed in the centre of the ballroom.

Natalia watched from the sidelines, her heart thudding in her chest as their mother appeared beside Irina. There was something almost predatory in the way she took in the scene, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if she'd already pieced together what wasn't being said.

"Irina, darling," their mother began, unable to hide her excitement. "Is there something you haven't told me?"

Natalia stiffened, feeling the air between them shift. She glanced at Irina, whose smile remained in place—too calm, too composed. Irina was always good at this, Natalia thought, good at pretending that everything was as it should be, even when it wasn't.

"Mama, really, nothing is going on," Irina said with a lightness that Natalia knew was forced. "Feodor and I are just friends."

Just friends. Natalia's breath caught slightly at the word, though she kept her expression neutral, trying to fade into the background. Irina's voice was smooth, but Natalia could see the faint tension in her sister's posture—the tiniest flicker of nerves that their mother would certainly pick up on.

Their mother's eyebrow lifted, her scepticism clear. "Just friends?" she repeated. "You expect me to believe that? The way he looked at you, Irina, and the way you're both behaving—it's as if there's something you're not telling me."

Natalia's stomach twisted, and she had to resist the urge to step in, to distract their mother, but this was Irina's test to pass. She'd have to handle it on her own.

"I'm not hiding anything," Irina continued, her voice calm, almost soothing. "There are no secrets. We just talk. You know me—I tell you everything."

Natalia marvelled at her sister's ability to lie with such grace. Even though she knew the truth, knew the emotions swirling beneath Irina's calm surface, there wasn't a crack in her performance.

Their mother, however, was not easily convinced. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You've always been good at keeping things to yourself, Irina. But secrets have a way of coming out. Just remember that."

Natalia saw Irina's hand clench subtly at her side, but her voice remained steady. "There's nothing to worry about, Mother."

Natalia exhaled quietly, glancing at her sister. Irina's mask hadn't cracked, but there was a flicker of something behind her eyes, something only Natalia could see. Their mother's suspicions had been deflected—for now. But Natalia knew this was only the beginning. The real test was still to come.

After that, Irina slipped seamlessly back into the crowd, her movements graceful, her expression carefully composed. She chatted lightly with the other guests, her voice soft and even, as if nothing at all weighed on her mind. But Natalia, watching closely, could see the truth. Irina's eyes kept drifting back to Feodor, drawn to him again and again like a moth circling a flame. Across the bustling ballroom, no matter how crowded or busy, their gazes met with an intensity that spoke volumes in silence—words that no one else could hear.

Natalia smirked to herself. For all their efforts to maintain appearances, their feelings were as clear as glass. Anyone paying attention could see the pull between them, the way they couldn't seem to help but look for each other.

Finally, perhaps sensing the futility of the charade, Feodor made his move. He navigated the crowd with a determined stride, a direct line towards Irina. Natalia watched, her heart skipping a beat, as he reached his destination. With a slight bow and a voice that sent shivers even down Natalia's spine, Feodor offered his hand. "May I have this dance, Irina?"

Irina's dazzling smile outshone the grand chandeliers that illuminated the ballroom. "I was beginning to think you'd never ask," she chimed, placing her delicate hand in his.

As they floated onto the dance floor, Natalia couldn't help but overhear the whispers and murmurs that followed them.

"What a stunning couple," a young woman sighed dreamily, genuine admiration in her voice instead of judgment.

"They look perfect together," an older gentleman remarked with a knowing nod, his tone tinged with a hint of doubt.

"Do you know who she is?" Another woman nearby whispered. "She's the daughter of Grand Duke Paul and his commoner wife. They may have given her a fake title a few years ago, but we all know her true background."

A wave of frustration and disappointment washed over Natalia. It had only been two years since the end of the War, a devastating conflict that had shattered societies and rewritten societal norms. Yet here they were, surrounded by waltzing couples and sparkling chandeliers, still clinging to old prejudices like cobwebs. It seemed some held onto their titles with as much desperation as soldiers once clung to their lives in the trenches.

Natalia clenched her fists, the sharp edges of her nails digging into her palms. She hated the bitterness, the envy thinly veiled as a concern. Weren't they all supposed to be rebuilding a new world, one where love mattered more than bloodlines?

Stealing a glance at Irina, Natalia's anger softened. Her sister's face glowed with a radiance that had nothing to do with the chandeliers overhead. In Feodor's arms, Irina seemed to exist in a world of her own making, a world where whispers and social disapproval couldn't penetrate.

A bittersweet smile tugged at Natalia's lips as she watched them. An unfamiliar pang of worry tightened Natalia's chest. What if Irina's connection with Feodor meant a shift in their dynamic? They were practically inseparable, and the thought of losing that constant companionship was daunting. How long would he stay? How would his presence alter the delicate balance they'd always known?