A.N: Some light edits have been done on this chapter. The Romanovs were originally supposed to go directly to Washington D.C, but I thought that they needed to have lunch at the infamous P.J Clarke's restaurant (next chapter). There are few things more American than a deluxe burger!
July 8, 1916
Even ten days after that night, Olga struggled to keep herself composed and calm whenever she encountered Pavel Voronov. Those hazel brown eyes of his would glance at her every so often. Her cornflower blue eyes would glance at him in a similar manner. Their gazes were that of longing and sadness. As much as she wanted it to be, they were not meant to be together. Every day she lived did not feel the same as before. She could not describe how her life had felt so different.
It was easy to act casual enough to fool the officers, but not Pavel. Neither would that thin facade convince her sisters.
A few hours before lunch, Olga was in her work room, which once belonged to her late father. No longer did the memories of her parents hurt very much.. First, she had lost her beloved parents. Scarcely four years after that horrid night, she had to lose her first love. What else would she lose?
She could only question herself about why a Romanov must bear such tragedies. Because you are a Romanov, her common sense replied. Who else would be anointed by God and church as the ruler and keeper of Holy Russia? She buried her face into her hands, feeling torn. She loved her fellow Russians, loved her nation, yet she hated how the old life that she once cherished was fading away.
Yes, she still had her sisters. Yes, she still had her relatives such as her dear grandmother on her father's side. She even had a fiance, even if he would accompany her for dynastic purposes. You are never alone, her rationale repeated.
It had been a while since she felt uncertain and burdened by the great responsibilities as Empress. Now that she had no distractions, her reality came crashing down on her. It seemed almost unbelievable: a twenty-one year old ruler of Russia during a time of modernization. She understood how her monarchy worked through its complicated laws and policies. She knew what her people wanted. Yet she was a young woman just past her late teenage years doing things that only adults seemed to do. The one factor that made it possible for the young Empress to achieve so much within four years was her intellect. That was how she could avert crises and make action with such skill and precision.
So much had been accomplished, yet she still felt unsatisfied. Why? She had the wealth and power of the Russian throne and a nation that began to love her, but those things did not satisfy every want she had. The missing want seemed to be everywhere. She felt it when she saw her late parents kiss. She felt it when her distant relatives talked about their spouses.
Olga, for the first time, was left wanting. She wondered if she could find love in her fiance, Dmitri Pavlovich. However, he was free-spirited, fun-loving, and the type of person to jump scare her. Well, she did not enjoy it as much as he did. She was more straight-laced, proper, and even more devout than him. They would never work together, even in an arranged marriage. Or would they? Regardless, she would soon find herself tied to him through an arranged marriage. Her family willed it. Her people willed it. Would it hurt to try to make the best of such an arrangement?
In his quarters, a groggy Dmitri Pavlovich groaned and opened his eyes to see sunlight shining through the cabin window. Beside his bed, a metal pot rested. The revolting stench of vomit drifted from the pot to assault his sense of smell. His head pounded with a headache, feeling like it would crack into halves. His body felt weary from a night of drinking and festivities.
The memories of the previous night rushed back to his consciousness, making his head throb even more. He remembered having quite a few drinks over the course of a night. The rest of the events were a confusing blur of sights and sounds, but he did remember being dragged to his room by officers and his sister. Even one of the Grand Duchesses, perhaps Tatiana, told him to shut up. He silently promised himself that he would make a comeback later.
Another detail of the night before came to his attention. Why did Olga leave dinner earlier? Dmitri Pavlovich tried to remember why, and the officer she left with seemed familiar. The large pointed nose and dark brown buzz-cut hair gave the identity away: Pavel Voronov. That was no surprise, as his fiance had told him of her feelings for the officer. She did not make a direct confession, but the Russian Grand Duke knew.
The thought of following the will of his relatives to be married off to Olga seemed unfeasible from a romantic perspective. He knew that she was his soul opposite: devout and proper despite her temper. On the other hand, he was, plainly put, a playboy. Even more, her heart was for another man. Despite his well-reasoned doubts, he was open to other thoughts. People with opposite or different personalities could find happiness or mutual respect together, so why not him and Olga? He doubted that he would fall in love, but he hoped that he would be able to finally find the companionship he had been yearning for.
He had lost his father and mother. He had lost his foster father, Grand Duke Sergei. No, he could not live alone. He lived among close family and friends, but he slept alone at night. And now, here he was, hungover and alone on a ship thousands of miles from home.
The young Grand Duke gave a bitter laugh. "What have I gotten myself into?" he muttered.
"A mess, obviously… I am immensely lost… yearning… searching… for what? I just drift through high royal life with its many pleasures and indulgences… and it is still not enough," he thought.
He thought of Olga again. She seemed happy for much of the time before the trip, but she had been disturbed and even unhappy on some occasions. At least he was not alone in his suffering and unease, filling the shoes of a long-dead monarch. Perhaps he should change something in his life, but he did not know what it was. Neither did he know the exact action to take.
He sat upright in his cabin bed before standing up. Looking in his mirror, he frowned. His eyes were reddened with irritated blood vessels. His hair was a mess. For the future consort of a Russian Empress, he looked horrible.
"Shit. I look much like a madman," he muttered, reaching over to his cabinet.
After taking his new clothing, he began to dress himself with his spare royal suit. Perhaps the Standart had almost reached its destination, so he would have to maintain his fine appearance. He then wore a white sash over his suit before combing his unkempt hair.
Dmitri Pavlovich looked into the mirror again. At least he looked decent, despite the reddened eyes. With one last look back at his quarters, he opened the door. Upon stepping outside, he opened his mouth in awe. Before him, the clouds had parted in the sky to make way for sunlight. The sun shone on the aquamarine hued waters as if they were crystal. He squinted into the distance past the Russian destroyer ships, and spotted the distant silhouettes of skyscrapers.
"Welcome to New York City, Mitya," a familiar voice said behind him.
Dmitri Pavlovich whirled around in surprise. His heart beat faster for a brief moment. Olga had returned the favor… by surprising him.
"What- Oh, it is only you," he said, sighing in relief.
"It seems that you fear your fiance and wife to be…" Olga said.
"No, no! I was just surprised."
Olga looked up into the blue eyes of her fiance, scrutinizing every fiber of his being. "Admit it, Mitya."
Dmitri could not say no. She had given him a slight scare, and this time, he was the prey. Stubborn as she was, the Empress would not back down.
"Fine… I admit that I am often helpless under your potent intellect."
"No need to flatter me, I do not like to boast. It is not what a woman of Christ does."
Dmitri decided to change the subject. He felt embarrassed, and he also felt impressed that she had prevailed once again. But he would be almost masochistic to admit such a thing to his wife to be.
"We are in American waters, I presume?"
"Well, yes. I forgot to mention earlier that you have managed to make yourself look presentable for the American President," Olga said, looking over Dmitri Pavlovich.
Dmitri Pavlovich nodded, looking at the approaching skyline of the metropolis before them. There, he could see a large statue with a coppery hue under the sunlight. The sea breezes made the dark blonde hair of his fiance wave in the wind, making her almost attractive. Her hair shone under the sunlight like the metal of the distant statue: the Statue of Liberty. Dmitri Pavlovich and Olga then noticed their relatives coming towards them.
Anastasia and Maria chattered with excitement, pointing at the Statue of Liberty and various skyscrapers. Followed by Tatiana and some officers, the Dowager Empress and Maria Pavlovna each held a Brownie camera, hoping to immortalize the moment forever in a photograph.
"Here is your camera, my dear child," Marie Feodorovna said, holding out the camera to Anastasia.
Anastasia jumped up and down with excitement and shining blue eyes. She took the camera and thanked her grandmother. Oh, this would make a splendid picture in the photobooks!
Anastasia stepped back, while Maria smiled. Maria laid back on the guardrails and savored the sea breezes that blew her brunette hair around. She was posing for this picture, and this one would be just right.
"Three, two, one... zero!" Anastasia counted, before pressing the camera button.
Anastasia looked around, and she saw her kitchen boy running to her.
"Dmitri, quick! I want all of us to be in a picture!" she yelled.
"What a splendid idea," Olga said while Dmitri and Tatiana nodded.
An officer received the other camera, and the Romanov daughters along with Dmitri Pavlovich took their positions facing the camera. The servant kitchen boy stayed behind , not wanting to disrupt their moment. However, his beloved Grand Duchess would not allow him to stay behind.
"Come here, Mister Ivanov," she commanded, looking at him with those beautiful cornflower blue eyes.
"But-"
"I want you here with me, and that is a royal order!"
"Uh… alright," Dmitri said, hesitantly stepping to his Nastya.
"Ready?" the officer asked.
The Empress, her fiance, her sisters, and the kitchen boy all voiced their assent. The camera clicked, and the officer nodded. The picture would take time to develop, and it could wait. Now, the Standart was fast approaching the docks.
Officers and sailors of the ship staff rushed past the Romanovs and servants. It was not long before the Romanovs turned around to wave at the gathering crowds on the waterfront. Chattering and cheering filled the air. Some of the people in the crowd, amazed at the sight of such the infamous and majestic royal yacht, waved back.
Eventually, the ship stopped at a dock with a long red and white carpet. On the carpet, flanked by soldiers and officers, stood a tall man in a black suit and tan hat. Olga and Dmitri Pavlovich looked down at the man: President Woodrow Wilson of the United States.
Woodrow Wilson looked up with his green-blue eyes at the yacht. He had talked much with his advisors before allowing the Romanovs to tour his nation. Although the Romanovs were overall monarchist, they were of a close ally and potential trading partner. For a week, the cultural and political differences would not matter. All that needed to be done was to give the Romanovs good impressions of America.
Yes, the Russian throne had not always helped its people, but with the rise of a new Empress came numerous changes in the state of the autocratic empire. He could only wonder what a future with a strong and stable Russia would bring. He waited until the gangway was lifted and linked with the decks of the Standart. The Romanovs and their servants went down the gangway with well-paced steps, careful not to take a misstep. Leading them were Olga I of Russia and Dmitri Pavlovich.
"Your Majesty," Wilson said, holding out his right hand.
"President Wilson," Olga said, shaking the hand of the president.
"I am glad that you and your family made it here without any trouble. It is an honor to meet you in person."
"I could say the same. Some in my family have wanted to visit this prominent country, including my fiance here, Dmitri Pavlovich of Russia."
"Welcome to America, Mister Pavlovich," Wilson said, facing the Russian Grand Duke.
Wilson gave a mild smile, holding out his hand. Dmitri Pavlovich had just done a handshake with Woodrow Wilson, and he could not help smiling. He had heard much about the American President and his nation, and he looked forward to his brief time in the United States of America.
"Come, the car awaits," Wilson said.
The Romanovs and their few loyal attendants followed the American President. The future royal couple, Olga and Dmitri, took their seats in the Ford car. The sleek curves of the car with the polished, darkly-painted exterior seemed to almost give an aura of power and prestige. The skyscrapers towered higher than even the tallest Russian cathedrals, palaces, or buildings. There was no doubt that the United States of America was a rising power on the world stage. Olga felt a rising feeling that she could hardly describe. It was pure awe. Someday, she would have foreigners tour Holy Russia and feel the same.
Olga and Dmitri Pavlovich sat behind the driver, Woodrow Wilson, and his second wife. Behind them, the rest of the Romanovs sat in two other cars. All three cars departed the docks, with the news reporters snapping pictures on their Brownie cameras and even running after the cars in vain. Down Whitehall Street, the escort continued to go. Around the barricades, crowds clamored and peeked from behind, as officers kept them at bay.
The escort continued out of downtown New York City, heading towards the infamous P.J Clarke restaurant beside the Hudson River. There, the russian royals would be introduced to a variety of genuine American dishes...