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

My Little Girl

After leaving the dressing room, Irina felt like she was being swept up in a tidal wave, barely able to catch her breath from the moment she stepped outside. More servants awaited her, guiding her into another room—a grand hall, really—where the rest of her family stood assembled. Her father, towering above them all, immediately drew her attention. His presence always seemed to fill any space, but his strong facade crumbled when his eyes landed on her and tears silently rolled down his cheeks.

Irina ran into his arms without hesitation, tucking herself against his chest. His embrace was firm, and protective, as he held her close.

"How is it possible that just yesterday you could fit in the palm of my hand, and now you're getting married?" he whispered into her hair.

Irina smiled, though her eyes burned with the threat of tears. She didn't want to upset him; she wanted to show him that she was ready and strong.

"I haven't been a little girl for a long time, Papa," she replied softly. "It's time for me to fly away."

He squeezed her tighter for a moment before releasing her, and just as she took a breath, Dmitri's familiar voice interrupted the tender moment.

"You still look like a little girl to me," he teased, grinning as he approached, his lighthearted comment breaking the tension. He made a goofy face, crossing his eyes slightly, clearly trying to make her laugh.

Irina chuckled, swatting at him playfully. "Always so serious," she joked back, shaking her head.

Then, from behind Dmitri, Vladimir emerged, his face less animated but filled with affection as he stepped forward. Irina's heart swelled with warmth seeing her brother, but there was also a pang of realization. The last two days had been a whirlwind, and she was just now realizing that the 'few hours' he had asked for had turned into two days where she hadn't seen him.

"Bodia," she said quietly as they embraced, her tone more serious. "How are you? Are you feeling better?"

Vladimir's expression hardened for a brief second, his body tensing slightly. He shook his head, and whispered, "It doesn't matter, Irina. Not today."

She frowned, sensing there was more to the story. "Vladimir—"

But he cut her off, squeezing her hand gently. "This is your day," he said, forcing a smile he didn't mean. "Nothing else matters right now."

Irina wanted to push further, but the look he gave her told her it wasn't the time. She nodded, letting it go for now. Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn't as bad as she feared.

As they stepped out of the embrace, she glanced around the room. The weight of the moment, the finality of it all, began to press on her. She was about to embark on a new life, and yet, there were so many threads from the past still dangling around her. The thought made her chest tighten.

But Dmitri's voice broke through the haze and his usual goofy charm lifted her spirits. "You ready for this, Irina? Last chance to run."

"Never," she replied, her smile more confident this time.

As they prepared to move on, Irina couldn't shake the feeling that something was still unresolved, particularly with Vladimir. But for now, she had to focus on the day ahead, the future waiting just beyond the doors of this hall.

When Irina entered the small Orthodox chapel, her nerves were palpable. Led by her father, she trully felt the weight of the moment. The soft light of the candles flickered against the gilded icons, creating a serene and solemn atmosphere that seemed almost overwhelming. Her steps were careful, her grip on her father's arm tight, as her mind raced with thoughts of the ceremony ahead and the watchful eyes of those gathered.

But then, as she neared the altar, her gaze caught Feodor's. His face was filled with pride and emotion, his eyes locked on her with a tenderness that made the world around them fade. At that moment, Irina's anxiety began to ease. The knot in her stomach loosened, her hands relaxed, and she could suddenly breathe more easily.

Feodor's expression, so full of love and anticipation, calmed her in a way nothing else could. With each step, her focus narrowed solely on him, and the nervousness that had gripped her gave way to a sense of calm. Irina's mind quieted, and all she could think of now was Feodor, standing before her, waiting.

As Irina reached the altar, the Russian Orthodox wedding ceremony began, and Feodor, standing proudly at her side, gently took her hand. The priest, robed in rich vestments, intoned the prayers, invoking blessings upon the couple. The scent of incense filled the small chapel, mingling with the soft chanting of hymns.

Although Irina had sometimes questioned her motives to marry Feodor, she felt a calm certainty settle over her. Each time she glanced at him, her love deepened. Feodor's quiet confidence reassured her, and with every small squeeze of her hand, she knew—now more than ever—that he would make her happy.

The crowning, a pivotal moment in the ceremony, followed. Feodor's younger brothers held the crowns for him, while Irina's brothers, Vladimir and Dmitri, along with Alexei, lifted the crowns for her. As the priest placed the gleaming, jewel-encrusted crowns upon their heads, Irina and Feodor were symbolically united as rulers of their own household, the weight of the crowns reminding them of the honour and responsibility they now shared.

Afterwards, they shared the common cup, sipping wine together to signify the joys and sorrows ahead. Finally, they were led in a procession around the altar, a symbolic journey hand in hand. The rhythmic steps felt light as if all the burdens of the day had lifted. Every moment—the blessings, the hymns, the sacred rituals—brought them closer together.

As the moment for the kiss arrived, Feodor pulled Irina close. Instead of a brief peck, he kissed her deeply, playfully bending her backwards. The guests broke into cheers, though her father shook his head in mild disapproval. Irina smiled, surprised her heart hadn't leapt from her chest.

She had never pictured herself in this moment. Her mind had always been filled by other ambitions, and if things hadn't changed so much in the last few months—her father denying her wish to attend university while allowing Natalia to go to Paris—she doubted she would have reconsidered Feodor's proposal. In fact, she knew that, under different circumstances, it would likely be Isabelle of Órleans standing here in her place. Yet Irina felt grateful for the strange turns that had led her to this day.

It all felt almost too good to be true. She had Feodor, three months of travel for their extended honeymoon, and afterwards, Yalta University awaited her. That perfect combination made her smile with true happiness as they walked back up the aisle, arm in arm with her husband.