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

Not Mine to Take

She could sense him standing there, just a few paces behind her as if waiting for her to acknowledge him. The realization filled her with a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness. She had imagined this moment so many times, rehearsing what she might say if they ever met again. But now, with him so close, words seemed to elude her. Slowly, almost afraid to break the spell, Irina turned around.

There he was, illuminated by the soft glow of the lights from inside, his tall figure standing against the windows. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes... there was something in them that made her breath catch. He looked at her as if she was the only person in the world, as if the year apart had been nothing more than a fleeting moment.

She had braced herself for awkwardness, for pain, even for cold indifference. But what she saw in his eyes surprised her. There was no anger, no resentment. Only the same deep, quiet longing she felt herself.

"Feodor," she whispered, the name barely escaping her lips. The sound of it seemed to hang in the air between them, heavy with all the things left unsaid.

"Irina," he replied softly, his voice a familiar comfort she hadn't realized she missed so much. He took a step closer, and she could feel the warmth of his presence wrapping around her. "Nikita told me Maria wanted to talk to me... about something important."

Irina blinked, and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she understood what had happened. Maria and Nikita had clearly set this up, orchestrating their encounter. The thought of it almost made her laugh.

Feodor stepped closer until he was standing right beside her, the scent of his cologne mingling with the crisp night air. Without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette case. He lit one with the practice of someone who had done so a million times before, the small flame briefly illuminating his face before he took a drag. After a moment, he turned to her, holding out the case.

"Would you like one?" he asked, his voice low and familiar. Irina hesitated for only a second before nodding, accepting the offer. Her fingers brushed against his as she took a cigarette, the brief contact making her shiver. Feodor lit hers as well with a steady hand despite the slight breeze.

They stood there in silence, the city of Paris sprawled out below them, a sea of lights flickering in the distance. The sound of their soft breathing and the occasional crackle of the burning tobacco were the only noises besides the traffic below. Despite the emotional whirlwind inside her, the silence between them felt easy, almost comforting.

Irina took a slow drag from her cigarette, the taste grounding her. She could feel the warmth of Feodor's presence next to her, the simple nearness of him doing more to calm her nerves than anything else could have. For a few moments, it was as if they were the only two people in the world, sharing a private moment that felt both natural and surreal.

Finally, Feodor broke the silence, his voice thoughtful. "I couldn't find you inside." He exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl up into the night air. "But I did find your sister" he began, his tone light but with a hint of mischief. "Her Russian has improved tremendously since the last time we spoke."

Irina wasn't sure if he was trying to divert the conversation or simply make her smile, but his words caught her off guard. She turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow in mild curiosity. "What do you mean?"

Feodor laughed, the sound warm and genuine, so distant from the tension that had been building inside her all evening. "She insulted me very eloquently," he continued, his amusement evident. "Her verbs were perfect, even though she was upset. A few months ago, she might have mixed them up in a situation like that, but she did wonderfully. And the vocabulary... Some of my colleagues in the army would blush if they heard half of what she said. All of it pronounced correctly, of course."