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

Bella Itália

Florence, July 1923

Irina

Irina had always dreamt about Italy, and now that she was there, she could hardly believe it was real. After weeks spent travelling through Milan, Venice, and Bologna, she found each city more beautiful than the last, but Florence captured her in a way she hadn't expected. It was the cradle of Renaissance, where most paintings and works of art she had admired since she had been a child had been created.

She had watched and studied them so many times that, as she strolled through its narrow streets, lined with centuries-old palazzi, buzzing with life, she felt as if she knew them, as if she had been there before. And yet, at the same time, the smells, the warmth of the people that crossed their path, were a completely new experience that delighted her and made her feel as if she was stepping into a completely different world.

Everything was made even more extraordinary by the fact that she was travelling without her family for the first time, having Feodor as her only companion.

During the mornings, they would visit galleries—Irina particularly marvelled at Botticelli works, whose beauty had always stirred something deep within her. They wandered the Boboli Gardens, getting lost among the manicured hedges and fountains, pausing to admire the stunning views of the city. Their afternoons were spent in quieter, more intimate pursuits, like sitting in small cafés in Piazza della Signoria, sipping coffee, eating pastries, and watching the world go by.

The evenings, however, were the most magical for her. As the golden light of sunset bathed the Ponte Vecchio and the surrounding hills, they would cross the bridge to the Oltrarno quarter for dinner, sharing dishes of fresh pasta, grilled meats, and wines that made her cheeks flush with warmth.

Though they were wrapped up in the romance of the city, there was still a sense of unfamiliarity between them, a soft boundary they hadn't yet crossed. It was strange but also comforting. Irina felt at ease with Feodor, but there was still a certain shyness between them. They had never spent this much time together before, and the novelty of it was both exciting and, at times, overwhelming. Neither had felt compelled to take the next step into their marriage yet—neither had been bold enough to take the initiative and the fact that they were still sleeping in different bedrooms made the arrangement even more complicated. For Irina, it was wonderful. She was grateful for the slow pace, enjoying their time together without the pressure to rush into family life.

Before the wedding , she had a conversation with Marianne which had reassured her a little in that regard. Marianne, being more experienced and unafraid of tackling such issues, had provided her with a list of methods to avoid pregnancy—everything from reliable suggestions to slightly humorous ones. But, in the end, the method that worked best for Irina and Feodor so far was simply refraining from intimacy altogether. It gave them space to focus on the newness of their relationship and enjoy their honeymoon without added expectations. Irina was happy to let things unfold naturally, appreciating this quiet period of discovery.

At that particular moment, they were seated at a charming restaurant perched along the Arno, listening to the soft ripple of the river as they enjoyed their dinner. The heat of the day hadn't fully subsided, and the evening air was still warm, but that only seemed to enhance the atmosphere. Feodor looked particularly handsome, his shirt sleeves rolled up, collar undone, trying to fend off the lingering heat. Irina admired how relaxed he appeared, how effortlessly he carried himself in this unfamiliar but beautiful city. She, too, had dressed lightly, in a flowing summer dress that caught the occasional breeze.

The wine had been flowing freely throughout the meal, helping them unwind after a day filled with sightseeing. They had hired an elderly tour guide earlier in the day—an experience that turned out to be more of an adventure than they had expected. The guide only spoke rapid Italian, and despite their best efforts to communicate in French, Russian, and English, none of their words seemed to get through. Now, sitting together under the fading light, they found themselves laughing at the absurdity of the situation, exchanging playful remarks as they recounted how the man had eagerly shown them around, oblivious to their confusion.