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

The Crossroad

The world seemed to shrink, the air thickening around Irina. The box, glinting with an internal fire, swam in her vision. The weight of expectations and the sudden shift in their relationship were all too much. She was deeply conscious of every second that passed by without an answer. Feodor was beaming, holding the box expectedly. Every pair of eyes in that room was fixed on her, but she couldn't even think of it.

Marriage had never been a dream of hers. Her aspirations were firmly rooted in her education. Given the chance, she would have spent the next five years immersed in university studies. As it was, she had poured herself into her lessons, finding solace and purpose there. She knew that, in a way, continuing her education was possible even as a wife, but the reality was far more complex. Marriage would also mean a home to run, children, eventually and she was not ready for that.

Then, she realized something else. Marriage to Feodor meant an extended stay in the Crimea each year. Feodor's illness didn't allow him to spend long periods living in the Russian winter. She would have to leave her family behind.

How could he not think of these things before he put her front and centre of such a difficult question? Surrounded by all the people they loved and could only have expected her to accept him at once?

Irina scanned the faces around the table. Only Natalia seemed to be disapproving of the moment as much as she was and was showing it with a steely stare. The rest were merely bewildered. She realised with a shudder that she could not simply refuse him straight away. She would have to spare his feelings for a few moments longer and do it afterwards when they were alone.

With a monumental effort, Irina gave a slow nod. Everything after that was a blur. The congratulations, the embraces, Feodor slipping the ring onto her finger – a foreign object that felt icy cold despite the warmth of his touch. It almost felt like it was branding her.

A radiant Feodor held her close, but for the first time, his embrace felt suffocating, a prison closing in on her. No, she absolutely could not go through with this.

Trembling, every inch of her body screaming in protest, she whispered, "We need to talk."

Feodor was surprised for a moment, but he gave her a quick nod. Everyone swarmed towards them, congratulations and well-wishes threatening to engulf them. It took Feodor a good while to manoeuvre them away, murmuring about needing a moment alone.

The walk back to the grand hall stretched into an eternity. Irina felt her pulse drumming in her ears. Glancing down, her gaze snagged on the ring, undeniably beautiful. It was the largest diamond she'd ever seen, surrounded by sapphires that matched the bracelet Feodor had recently gifted her. It was clear he'd planned this for a while. The presence of his parents, her mother's tear-streaked face earlier that evening – all pieces of a puzzle she hadn't noticed.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she ripped the ring from her finger and spun around. Feodor, oblivious as ever, looked from the ring back to her.

"You don't like it?" He asked, and it took all her common sense not to throw the ring in his face.

"It's not about the ring," she choked out, the carefully chosen words threatening to be drowned out by the roar of her anger. "Don't you think this"—she gestured vaguely back towards the closed door to the dining room —"this entire thing, shouldn't we have discussed it before you ambushed me with a proposal?"

Feodor's surprise morphed into something akin to bewilderment. He stumbled back a step, mouth agape. "Ambushed you? Irina, those were our families. I thought you'd want them to share this moment."

Irina's hands flew to her face, the frustration a physical weight on her chest. Inhale. Exhale. Repeat. "It's not about our families either," she finally managed, her voice tight with barely suppressed fury, "shouldn't we have talked about this before? Did I ever give you any hint I was ready for marriage?"