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

Quiet Before the Storm

Once their little quarrel about the merits of the Eiffel Tower was resolved, Natalia and Alexei sat on a bench watching the slow rhythm of Paris in the late hours of the night unfolding before them. One of the groups of friends they had seen scattered around the avenue burst into singing drunken carols as they staggered home, weaving their way through the avenue.

After listening to them, a homeless man walking near Natalia and Alexei started humming the same tune with a nostalgic smile. He had lost a leg, most likely during the war, and was limping through the avenue with his crutches and long grey beard. Walking past them, he took off his hat and bid them goodnight. Alexei then rose from his seat and pressed his other cufflink into the man's hand while Natalia took off her earrings and reached towards him. The man thanked them with tears streaming down his face, and then, because it was getting late, they decided it was time to return home.

The walk to Boulogne-sur-Seine was shorter than their earlier trek, but it would still take a good hour. They chose to stroll by the riverside, and Natalia made a point to cross the Pont Alexandre III, eager to show Alexei the bridge named after his grandfather. Yet, as they walked across it, Alexei grew quiet, his gaze lingering on the grand archways and statues. Instead of the enthusiasm she'd hoped for, she noticed a contemplative look in his eyes as though the moment had stirred something deep within him.

"I never knew my grandfather," Alexei said, his voice thoughtful. "He died so young—barely fifty."

Natalia sighed softly, sensing the conversation might turn sombre.

"I know," she replied. "My father says it was a great loss, that things in Russia might have turned very different if he'd lived a bit longer."

Alexei nodded with a wistful smile. "My father says that, too."

They walked silently for a few moments, the sounds of the Seine filling the quiet before Alexei spoke again.

"At least I've heard that he had a peaceful death, which is rare for a Tsar. His father was blown to pieces by a terrorist bomb, as well as his brother. His great-grandfather was murdered in his bedroom by people loyal to his son."

Natalia squeezed Alexei's arm, feeling the conversation was turning too dark.

"I'm well aware of the blood spilt in our family, Alexei. It doesn't feel like the right time to bring it up."

He looked at her and nodded, offering an apologetic smile.

"You're right. I didn't mean to cast a shadow on the evening. I haven't even thanked you for all of this."

Natalia smiled warmly.

"There's no need for that. I don't like when you talk this way, as if your fate is written in the past. It's not. Not in our day. You're going to grow very, very old, Alexei Nikolaevich and I'll be right beside you, prodding you along if I have to," she teased. "Even if it means I'll need a hot iron to chase those dark thoughts away."

Alexei's smile faded, and a shadow passed over his eyes as he lowered his gaze.

"I wish that were true," he murmured.

"What do you mean by that?" Natalia asked.

A sad smile remained on his face as he looked at her.

"I know you'll leave eventually," he said. "I know you don't feel like Russia is your home, but that is fine, I understand. I know you'd jump on the first opportunity to return here for good."

"You are thinking far too much of the past and the future instead of focusing on this moment, Alexei," Natalia said, holding his gaze. "Nothing of that matters now."