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

The Ritz

Natalia arrived with her parents, Marishka and Vladimir, at the Ritz Hotel, where the sun's last rays reflected on its cream-coloured façade. The street was buzzing with a line of cars that never seemed to end. With the Olympics in full swing, it was expected that the hotel would be completely booked and that all of its saloons would be rented for parties, much like the one Natalia and her family were headed to. It had been Dmitri who had insisted on coming to the Ritz in order to celebrate his triumph instead of just celebrating at home.

Natalia found the idea splendid. She loved to go out and mingle with others, but she knew her father wouldn't feel comfortable and would try to leave as soon as possible. So she clung to her sister Marishka, hoping she would stay a bit longer, although she had her own son at home.

A doorman tipped his hat and greeted them with a courteous "Bienvenue, madame, monsieur" before leading them inside. The shift from the bustling square to the opulence of the Ritz was immediate. Smooth and cool marble floors stretched beneath their feet, and the murmur of conversations in several languages drifted from unseen corners.

A maître d'hôtel appeared as if summoned by thought alone. With a slight bow, he guided the family past velvet armchairs and low, gilded tables topped with porcelain vases of fresh roses. They reached the room where the party would be held, up a short flight of stairs and down a corridor lined with carpets. The glass doors were already open, leading them to an airy space with tall windows framed by silk drapes. The late afternoon light was spilling across the parquet floor, where the reflections of the chandeliers swayed gently. The tables had been set with millimetric precision — white linens so crisp they could have been paper, glassware sparkling.

The room was already filled with guests, most strangers to Natalia—friends of Dmitri, she guessed. He had a habit of collecting people like trinkets from a faraway market: poets, painters, and aristocrats who had too much money and absolutely no concept of shame. It was a relief, really. Small talk with strangers was easier than dodging someone she actually knew.

Someone like Nicholas of Romania, she thought, glancing nervously toward the entrance.

If she were lucky, he'd arrive after Tata did. Tata had a sharp tongue and an even sharper sense of timing, and Natalia desperately needed both tonight. With Tata, she could face Nicholas with the same breezy indifference she'd practised in front of the mirror that morning. Without Tata? It would be like going to war with no armour and a spoon for a weapon.

The evening wore on, and the chandeliers dimmed to a golden glow that made everything—people, jewels, and even the wallpaper—look softer, richer, more expensive. Natalia sipped her champagne, feeling more at ease now that she'd spotted some familiar faces from Paris. Childhood friends she hadn't seen in years pulled her into rounds of laughter and memories of ridiculous escapades, most of which she barely remembered but pretended to for the sake of the fun.

Just as one of them was recounting a story about a disastrous picnic in the Bois de Boulogne, Natalia noticed the shift in the air. The faint, almost imperceptible change in energy that only ever meant one thing: royalty had entered the room.

She glanced toward the entrance, and sure enough, there she was—Queen Marie of Romania, glowing like a star fallen to earth in a gown that sparkled as if every sequin had been hand-kissed by the sun. She swept in with grand authority, flanked by her children like minor planets caught in her orbit. Natalia didn't mean to stare, but it was like watching a parade march straight through a garden party.

Her gaze moved quickly over them. Elizabeth looked profoundly unimpressed as if being at the Ritz was some kind of punishment. George of Greece beside her, all politeness and patience, like a man well-practised in the art of enduring family gatherings. Ileana, bright-eyed and smiling as if she'd never seen a dull day in her life. Carol—good grief, that man always looked like he'd been forced into a pair of too-tight shoes. And then... Nicholas.