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

Just a Little Game

As Vladimir emerged from the study, the warm, late afternoon sunlight streaming through the tall windows momentarily blinded him. He blinked rapidly, adjusting his vision to the brightness. His gaze fell upon a figure lounging comfortably in a plush armchair, and his heart skipped a beat.

"Vladimir, what a surprise," Tata said, in her usual, lively and almost innocent tone. "How are you?"

For a moment, Vladimir was taken aback. If he hadn't been on the receiving end of Tata's flirtations, he wouldn't have believed it. She looked so innocent and composed, nothing like the seductive temptress he had encountered a few days earlier. She wore a loose white embroidered blouse paired with a flowing red skirt, a far cry from the tight emerald dress that had accentuated her curves at the ball.

However, even in this seemingly innocent pose, there was an undeniable allure about her. Her bare feet rested carelessly on the chair's arm, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth, olive skin. It was impossible for Vladimir to deny the pull she had on him, no matter how hard he tried to resist.

"I-I'm good, thank you," Vladimir managed to stammer out. "And you?"

She nonchalantly shrugged, her hand holding the book gently as she turned it to face him. The cover depicted a delicate watercolour painting, adorned with gold lettering that read "In Search of Lost Time" by Marcel Proust. He had recommended it to her to read over the summer, and she was now engrossed in its pages.

She looked up at him, her expression curious. "Does this get any better?"

Her question broke through his thoughts, and he found himself surprised at her unchanged demeanour after their previous encounter. A part of him was disappointed that she wasn't rising from her chair, walking in his direction and leaning in close to whisper something scandalous into his ear.

He cleared his throat, trying to hide his unexpected disappointment. "It's a masterpiece," he replied, his tone more offended than intended. He couldn't fathom how someone could make it through the first chapter of the book without sharing his opinion. "Are you struggling with the language?" he asked curiously, wondering what could possibly be holding her back from seeing the brilliance of Proust's words.

Tata's answer was accompanied by a small smile that danced at the corners of her lips, a hint of mischief glimmering in her eyes. "No," she said, her voice low and melodious. "It's not the language. It's just...boring." She paused, her gaze widening innocently as she continued, "I mean, it's probably a masterpiece, like you said. But it's a bit...slow, don't you think?"

Vladimir couldn't believe his eyes or ears. The woman who had been so forward and flirtatious with him just days ago now sat primly in an armchair, nonchalantly discussing the merits (or lack thereof) of a Proust novel. Her transformation was so sudden and complete that he was at a loss for words, feeling utterly perplexed.

A surge of confusion and doubt flooded through him. Had their previous encounter been nothing more than a figment of his imagination? Was he losing his grip on reality? He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "Perhaps it's simply an acquired taste," he managed to say, though his voice sounded strained even to his own ears.

Tata's lips curved into a knowing smile, her enigmatic gaze holding steady on him. "Indeed," she replied cryptically, leaving Vladimir even more bewildered than before.

After that, he had expected to say something else. Anything. But she simply readjusted her position, bringing the novel back up to her face and disappearing behind it once again. The bright cover with its intricate designs seemed to swallow her whole. Despite his irritation, he found himself unable to look away from her. He knew he should walk away and forget about this encounter, but he also knew that this moment would linger in his mind for days to come.

Unable to resist any longer, he called out her name - "Tata?" And just like that, she lowered the book once again, her dark eyes meeting his with an intensity that made him stop in his tracks and forget what he was about to say.

"Did you forget something?" she asked, her voice soft but full of curiosity.

Vladimir had prepared a long speech for this very scenario. He was going to lecture her on how proper young ladies should behave and how they needed to clear the air before resuming their lessons in October. He would even threaten to resign from his post if she didn't know her place. But now, all those words were forgotten as he stood before her as a bundle of nerves. Despite his reputation as a skilled poet, he couldn't string together more than a few simple words in front of her.

"The other night..." he began, his voice a low rumble that echoed through the empty room.

She responded with a soft, playful scoff, her full lips curling up into a mischievous smile. The sound was like a feather brushing against his skin, and it sent shivers down his spine. "You couldn't get that out of your head, could you?"

His carefully crafted facade crumbled at her teasing retort. A surge of desire, raw and primal, coursed through him like electricity. He struggled to regain control over his thoughts. The first delirious idea that came into his mind was that he needed to close the distance between them and silence her witty retorts with his lips. It was a dangerously tempting image, one that consumed his mind and stirred emotions he had long suppressed.

He felt a hot blush crawling up his neck and into his cheeks. He looked away, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. The air in the room was heavy with the scent of lavender from her shampoo and it mixed with the light perfume she wore, making it hard for him to concentrate on anything else but her presence. He couldn't believe how quickly she had reduced him to a rattled bundle of nerves.

He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. "You are...truly something," he managed to say through gritted teeth, barely audible above the pounding of his heart.

Tata's laughter filled the air once more, a sound that was like music to Vladimir's ears. It was the sound of her true self, the side he had known before this moment. "I hope you enjoy your vacation, Vladimir. Try not to lock yourself inside some dusty library, you're in desperate need to catch some sun."

Vladimir was left speechless, his mind reeling from the shift in power dynamics. The solid ground beneath him seemed to tilt and sway, leaving him momentarily disoriented. With just a few carefully chosen words, she had rendered him utterly powerless.

As Tata rose gracefully from the armchair, Vladimir couldn't help but notice how the sunlight danced on her hair, creating an ethereal halo around her. She appeared to be a vision of youthful vitality and strength, and in that moment, he realized his mistake. He had foolishly believed he could control her and the situation at hand, underestimating her abilities.

He struggled to find his voice as she turned to leave, feeling a heavy sense of dread wash over him. In a meek attempt to maintain some sense of control, he managed to utter a weak "Have a pleasant vacation, Tata."

But deep down, he knew that when they returned, everything would be forever changed between them.