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

A New Day

When Vladimir awoke the next morning, he felt lighter than he had in years, a blissful calm settling over him. But as he reached out, the cold, empty space beside him reminded him that Tata was no longer there. He let out a soft grunt of disappointment, feeling her absence in the sheets that had cooled without her warmth. A flicker of regret passed briefly through his mind, but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by the memory of the night they had shared.

The flutter of excitement in his chest, the vivid recall of Tata's touch, her skin against his, made it impossible to dwell on anything negative. Whatever the future held, it couldn't change how special that night had been. He allowed himself to bask in that happiness for a moment longer, feeling a level of joy he hadn't allowed himself in a long time.

With a lazy stretch, he rolled out of bed and moved toward the window, gazing at the lush gardens below, bathed in the golden light of late spring. There was a feeling of anticipation over the coming summer and the longer days in the air, and a few early risers were already wandering through the grounds, savouring the salty breeze.

His gaze shifted to the desk in the corner, cluttered with the mess of papers he had left the night before. One sheet caught his eye as he walked over—the poem he had started writing about Tata the night before. But there was something different. At the bottom of the page, in her neat, flowing handwriting were a few added lines:

"Just a little something to remember me while I'm in Paris.

I'll see you at breakfast. Anonymously.

Try your best to pretend like nothing's happened.

If the tides run in our favour, I'll meet you again tonight.

A tender kiss,

Tata."

Vladimir smiled, his heart fluttering as he read the note. Her playful tone was unmistakable, and he could almost picture her writing it in the early hours before slipping away. But now, breakfast awaited, and he had to face her again—along with everyone else.

As he dressed and went to the dining room, he could already sense the emotional weight in the air. The table was smaller this morning, set for only the most intimate guests—those closest to Irina and Feodor. This was their last meal together before the couple departed for their honeymoon, and the mood was bittersweet.

Vladimir entered quietly, joining the others already seated. The conversation was subdued, filled with fond memories and well-wishes for the newlyweds. Irina and Feodor, sitting at the head of the table, were the centre of attention, their love radiating as they exchanged smiles and soft words. Irina looked radiant, her eyes glowing with happiness, though a hint of nervousness lingered around the edges. Feodor, ever attentive, held her hand tightly, offering silent reassurance.

He stole a glance at Tata, seated a few places down from him, next to his sister Natalia. She caught his eye for just a second, but her expression remained perfectly composed, betraying nothing of the night before.

He felt a surge of admiration for her—at how easily she slipped back into the familiar rhythm of their social circle as if nothing had changed. But beneath the surface, Vladimir knew. He could feel the electricity between them, the secret they now shared.

When Vladimir turned back around, he found Dmitri, of all people, looking directly at him with an amused, knowing smile. Vladimir froze for a second, unsure if he was going to say something or even if he had truly noticed the brief exchange between him and Tata. But Dmitri, true to his mischievous self, simply smiled to himself and turned his attention back to his plate, offering no comment.

Later, as they were leaving the room and heading into the garden to bid farewell to the newlyweds, Dmitri walked up beside him and gave him a hearty pat on the back.

"Good for you," he whispered with a playful wink before casually strolling ahead as if the comment had never been uttered at all.

As Irina and Feodor stepped out of the house, laughter rippled through the gathered guests. Feodor's brothers had outdone themselves, decorating the car in a playful, gaudy fashion—cans rattling on strings and phrases like "Just Married" painted across the back in vibrant, mismatched colours. The whole scene was cheerful and lighthearted, unlike the bittersweetness Vladimir felt at that moment.

He watched from the edge of the crowd, his heart swelling with pride and a touch of sadness. His little sister, the girl he had teased and protected all these years, was stepping into a new life. It felt surreal to see Irina now, radiant with happiness, waving to their family and friends, her hand tightly intertwined with Feodor's. The reality of it hit Vladimir—this was the beginning of her journey, the start of something he couldn't be a part of in the same way anymore.

As Irina hugged each guest and accepted heartfelt congratulations, Vladimir saw the mixture of excitement and nerves on her face. Her smile was bright, but there was a fleeting glance toward him—one that held a thousand memories of their childhood, of the bond that now had to loosen.

When it was his turn to embrace her, the emotions overwhelmed him. "Take care of her," he whispered to Feodor, who nodded with a soft smile.

However, her composure slowly began to crack. When she reached Tata, the first tears welled up in her eyes. Tata, always so composed, pulled Irina into a warm embrace, whispering something that made them both laugh softly despite the emotion of the moment. But the laughter quickly faded, and as they parted, a tear slipped down Irina's cheek. She wiped it away, trying to keep herself together.

But when Irina reached Natalia, the thin thread of control snapped entirely. The two sisters stood there for a moment, staring at each other before Irina broke down, sobbing. Natalia, tears streaming down her own face, rushed to embrace her, and they clung to each other as if they couldn't bear to let go. The crowd around them fell silent, all eyes on the tender, emotional farewell between the sisters.

Vladimir watched the scene with a lump in his throat, feeling the weight of the moment. Irina had always been the calming, grounding force of the family, and seeing her like this—caught between the excitement of her new life and the pain of leaving behind the world she knew—tugged at his heart in a way he hadn't expected.

They held on for what seemed like an eternity, neither wanting to be the first to pull away. Feodor, standing patiently by, finally leaned in and whispered gently to Irina that they had to go or they would miss the train. His voice was soft but firm, and slowly, with one last tight squeeze, Irina let go of Natalia. Her face was wet with tears, but there was a bittersweet smile on her lips as she took Feodor's hand.

Finally, with a last wave, Irina and Feodor stepped into the car, the cans clattering noisily as the engine roared to life. Vladimir's throat tightened as he watched the car pull away, disappearing down the long driveway. It was a joyful farewell for everyone around him, but for Vladimir, it was the poignant realization that Irina was truly grown now —she was a wife, beginning her own path, and all he could do was watch from a distance.