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

Some Nights

Vladimir

When Vladimir had carefully planned to send Tata and Natasha to Paris, he hadn't expected Tata to arrive at his house a full day before their departure.

The trip back from Petrograd with Alexei had seemed like something harmless, a chance for his friend to say a proper goodbye to Natalia after sharing four years of their lives in close companionship. But when Vladimir had been on his way to greet his father at his study, he saw Tata emerging from the library, carrying a box filled with Natalia's fashion catalogues—catalogues he had thought securely hidden—and stopped in his tracks.

Their eyes met, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away. Tata's cheeks flushed a delicate pink, and she clutched the box to her chest, a gesture that made him shiver, stirring emotions he had tried his best to keep buried. He knew better than to linger, knew this house was full of people, with his father just beyond the door to the study. But he couldn't seem to move, caught in the unexpected sight of her.

She looked down quickly, her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, the boldness he sometimes saw in her nowhere to be found. This was the same girl who had tried to seduce him in private, but then always appeared nervous, almost shy, as if none of those moments had ever happened, when they were in public. The contrast tended to leave him confused, torn between the memory of her advances and the image of her standing before him now, seemingly innocent and vulnerable.

After what felt like too long, he forced himself to break the silence. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to clear his thoughts, and began to walk again.

"Tata," he said as he passed her, his voice a low murmur. He meant it to be a simple greeting, but it came out weighted with the confusion he couldn't quite shake.

"Vladimir," she replied in a low voice, her confidence replaced by a tremor that only deepened his bewilderment. Her eyes flicked towards the study door, then back to him. For a brief moment, he could see her pulse in the delicate curve of her neck. "I... I thought you were still in Petrograd."

"I was," he answered slowly, trying to keep his tone even, though every word seemed to hang in the air between them, heavy with meaning. His feet carried him forward, but his thoughts remained stuck on the sight of her standing there, looking so different from what he'd come to expect. "But Alexei and I decided to return early... to surprise Natasha before she leaves."

A small, almost nervous smile played on her lips, her gaze dropping to the floor. "That was thoughtful of you," she said softly, her voice barely carrying in the quiet hallway. The words were innocent enough, but he couldn't ignore the way she bit her lip afterwards, reminding him just enough of their previous encounters to make his heart beat faster despite himself.

The tension between them grew thicker as each moment stretched out while they stood there, neither willing to fully acknowledge what each was thinking. The house around them was full of people, any one of whom could walk in on them at any second. His father's study was just a few steps away, which was also a strong reminder of the propriety they were expected to maintain.

But even as these thoughts flickered through his mind, Vladimir was unable to look away from her. She was so close, so frustratingly close, and yet her behaviour left him uncertain, unsure of what was real and what was part of some game she was playing.

Finally, she turned, walking towards the staircase at a slow, deliberate pace, as though she were carefully controlling her every movement. The soft rustle of her skirt on the steps was the only sound that broke the tense silence.

Vladimir watched her go, his heart pounding, his thoughts a tangled mess of desire and confusion. He should be relieved she was leaving, should be focused on the task ahead, but instead, he felt a growing unease—an awareness that his feelings for Tata were far more complicated than he had ever allowed himself to admit.