The Paleys (1922-1924) - An Alternate Romanov Story

Idiot

Vladimir sat on the back stairs of the Ritz, his elbows braced on his knees and a cigarette hanging loosely from his fingers. The warm night air clung to his skin, but he paid no mind, letting it settle around him as he watched the cars and people pass by on the street below. His knuckles throbbed in a dull, persistent ache that he felt each time he flexed his fingers. He glanced down at them, the skin split and raw, and grimaced at the sight.

Why couldn't he hold himself back? He'd known what Carol was doing—prodding him, testing his patience with every barb. It had been so obvious. And yet, all it had taken was one more remark, one more sharp twist of the knife, and he'd behaved like a fool who didn't know how to control his anger.

His lip curled as he replayed it in his mind, the way Carol's face had shifted from smug to shocked in an instant. There had been a flicker of satisfaction in the blow—that brief, brutal impact of knuckles against bone—but it was gone as quickly as it had come.

If Carol had said the same thing about any of his sisters, he'd have done the same. He reasoned that he'd have done it for any woman as his brow furrowed and he flicked ash from the cigarette. Respect demanded it. Honour demanded it. And yet, as he sat there, nursing his bruised hand, he couldn't quite settle the doubt this whole thing had ignited in his mind.

Was it only that? Would he have reacted the same way if this hadn't been about Olga? Had he really been defending her honour, or had something in that last provocation hurt his pride? He would be lying to himself if, throughout the years, that exact same thought hadn't crossed his mind more than once. Olga chose a future King over a poet, knowing from the start that she would probably never be happy with him. He was fully aware that it had been hard for her to forgive him after his role in the Coup, but was it all there was to it? Could there be some truth in what Carol had said?

He shook his head and took a deep breath, hoping to chase the dark thoughts away. No, Olga would not have chosen Carol if she didn't have a good reason, and he was certain that reason had nothing to do with ambition. She was most likely thinking of her family and how the match could help them. 

Once his thoughts about Olga were settled, though, his breath hitched as he thought of Tata, about the way she'd looked at him before he'd stormed out. He'd expected anger, maybe disappointment. But her gaze had been something else entirely - something sharper, deeper, and more unforgiving than any reprimand. It pierced him, leaving him hollow and aching in a way that no punch ever could.

The distant thud of a door opening pulled him from his thoughts. He turned his head sharply, his eyes narrowing as he peered back up the stairwell. He heard the unhurried footsteps echoing softly against the stone, and for a moment, he thought a member of the staff was coming outside to take a break. But he was wrong. It was Tata.

She stepped into view, carrying a small bundle wrapped in a linen cloth. Her gaze found him instantly, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. She descended the last few steps, stopping just short of him, and sat by his side. The faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air between them.

"You're an idiot," she said. There was no venom in it, only fact.

He gave a short, breathy laugh, shaking his head as he glanced away. "You're not wrong."

Without saying a word, she lifted his hand and examined it critically. He winced but didn't pull away. She pressed the ice wrapped inside the cloth against his knuckles, the coolness biting into his skin, and he hissed through his teeth.

"Hold still," she muttered, adjusting her grip. "You've done enough damage for one day."

His eyes flicked up to her face. She was focused entirely on his hand, her brows drawn in concentration. He watched her for a moment longer than he should have, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the way her lashes caught the light. She looked stunning as always in a sparkling silver dress that hugged every curve of her body, and he reminded himself how happy she had made him over the last year. How she had walked into his life like a Summer storm and brought joy back into it. Something to look forward to again.