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

Tea with a Familiar Face

A few days after the appointment at Lucien Lelong's, Natalia found herself caught in the whirlwind of social events and engagements that now filled her days. There was hardly a moment of peace between the wedding preparations and her parents' eagerness to show Irina off at every possible gathering. It was a parade of luncheons, soirées, and family meetings. She knew it would only intensify in the coming weeks, and while her absence from school was inevitable, she couldn't bring herself to care much about missing the classes.

She sighed when she thought about it, almost laughing at herself. The thought of missing algebra didn't cause her any worry, but the idea of missing out on the vibrant, untamed weekends made her stomach twist with longing.

Every day seemed to bring a new set of guests to their table. Breakfast, lunch, dinner—there was never a quiet moment. People who had hardly cared for them before suddenly found their way into their lives, eager to bask in the glow of Irina's engagement to the Tsar's cousin. Natalia couldn't help but find the whole thing a little absurd. A few months ago, most of these aristocrats wouldn't have bothered to glance their way, but now, they were the centre of attention, invited to every grand house and hosting an endless stream of visitors.

She found most of them dreadfully dull. The conversation at the daytime meals was often lifeless, revolving around old family connections and social niceties that Natalia had no interest in. They were polite, of course, but there was no spark, no intrigue. She would smile, nod along, and try to keep herself entertained without being rude, but the hours dragged on.

It was the soirées that she truly lived for. In the evenings, there was a change in the type of guests they hosted—out went the dull aristocrats and in came artists, writers, and worldly officers with stories of faraway lands and adventures. There was laughter, spirited debate, and an energy that brought joy and life back to the room. These were the people who fascinated Natalia, who made her feel like there was more to the world than society's rigid rules. She felt more like herself among them, as if her mind became more stimulated by their ideas and their boldness. She even found herself craving the freedom they enjoyed.

One afternoon, after sitting through yet another uneventful lunch, in which she had barely paid attention to the murmured conversation around her, she prepared herself for the second part of the day: afternoon tea. She had grown used to tuning out the monotonous hum of the aristocratic chatter. It was all routine by now—a blur of faces, names, and titles that had begun to blend into one another.

But then, the double doors to the sunroom swung open, and the air shifted.

Natalia glanced up, expecting another round of dignitaries or relatives she could barely remember, but instead, her heart came to a sudden, delightful halt. Strolling into the room, with the ease and grace of those who knew they belonged everywhere and nowhere, was none other than Sergei Diaghilev, flanked by a small group of dancers and they brought with them a new energy that made everything feel more vivid, more alive. Natalia's breath hitched.

It was so unexpected, so surreal, she couldn't quite believe her eyes. She leaned slightly forward, unable to hide her surprise. She was used to grand visitors, but this was something entirely different—a group of artists, living legends in the world of ballet, casually entering her home as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

And then she saw him.

Amidst the graceful figures surrounding Diaghilev was a face that made the world tilt on its axis. Serge Lifar, with his striking features and presence. He was more handsome than she remembered, and the sight of him standing there, so close, made her question if this was a dream.

She bit down a smile so no one would see how dazzled she was by what was happening, but she felt too buzzing and bubbling and it was impossible for her to control her feet, which she tapped rhythmically under the table. He was here. In her home.