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

First Position

Serge's fingers curled around hers, firm and sure. Glancing down at her feet, he suggested, "Maybe it's best if you take off your shoes." His voice was light, but his gaze was unreadable. "Lovely as they are, they don't look particularly comfortable."

She nodded—too quickly, too eagerly—but at this point, what was the use in pretending? Without hesitation, she dropped to one knee as her fingers fumbled at her shoes' buckles. When she slipped them off, she was acutely aware of what she was doing, of how intimate such a simple action suddenly felt. A part of her whispered that she had no business removing any article of clothing in Serge's presence, but the thought was drowned out by the sound of her own heartbeat hammering in her ears.

When her stockinged feet touched the cool wooden floor, she came to her senses for just a moment, enjoying the pleasant sensation, but it did little to steady the rapid fluttering in her chest.

"Better?" Serge asked, moving closer.

Natalia flexed her toes experimentally, nodding. 

"Yes," she whispered because that was the only tone of voice she could manage at that moment.

"Good," he murmured before stepping back and motioning toward the barre. "Since we don't have much time, we'll stick to the basics. Ballet starts with five fundamental positions. Everything you see on stage—the turns, the jumps, the lifts—it all comes from these foundations."

She nodded again, drinking in every word. Not just because she was eager to learn but because they were coming from Serge, and she wanted to hear his voice and prolong whatever this was between them.

Serge stepped to the side and demonstrated the first position as if it had taken no effort. His heels touched, toes turned outward, and his posture was so impeccable that it was almost unnerving. 

"First position," he said simply. Try it."

Natalia mirrored him, turning her feet outward in the same way. To her surprise, the motion felt natural, familiar in a way she hadn't expected.

Serge raised a brow. "Good," he murmured, showing he was just as astounded that she pulled it off on her first try. "You've been paying attention."

"I told you I've been watching it since I can remember," she admitted.

He said nothing, only nodded in quiet acknowledgement before moving on. "Second position."

 He stepped into it, feet apart but still turned outward. Again, Natalia followed easily.

Serge exhaled a soft chuckle. "I was expecting more of a struggle," he admitted. "It's rare for someone to find their placement so quickly."

Natalia didn't reply—she couldn't. Not when he was suddenly behind her, adjusting her posture with a light touch at her waist. His hands were careful, impersonal, but that didn't matter. The second his fingers grazed her, every nerve in her body seemed to ignite. She was going to die. That was the only explanation. She was going to die from the sheer intensity of this moment.

"Relax your shoulders," Serge murmured. "You're holding too much tension."

Natalia almost wanted to laugh. Relax? How could she relax when she could barely breathe?

He gently smoothed a hand down her arm, guiding it into the correct position. The sensation left a burning trail in its wake. Natalia clenched her jaw, fighting to maintain her composure. Serge, oblivious to her turmoil, stepped back to observe her form. His expression was neutral until the corner of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly.

"You're a natural," he said.

There was something in his voice, something he was holding back as if he were only now realizing that there was something different in the air. Natalia held her breath as Serge took another step back, his hands dropping to his sides. His gaze flickered over her, assessing, but something had changed. He was suddenly careful and more distant than before. He no longer reached out to correct her posture, though she could tell he wanted to.