Count Felix Soumarokoff-Elston, Prince Youssoupoff with his two illegitimate children, Olivier (1916-2004) and Tatiana (1920-2010).
“My dear good daughter, my baby Tatiana, good holy Tatiana my little heart, I wish you to grow with the same joy as your mother. It’s sad that I can not come and kiss you because of my cough. […] How is your brother? I hope he is wise and kind. Tell him on my part that since he is the eldest, he must always protect you, and love you very much. Embrace mama and Olivier on my part. Hello to your aunt. May Jesus keep you sweetie. Papa”- Letter from Count Felix to his daughter Tatiana, January 1922
"In the Blood" - where Yuuri discovers that Viktor is the least Extra™ Nikiforov
Yuuri gapes at the size of the room. At the ornate decorations. At the – wait, are those real Faberge eggs?
“Those were family heirlooms passed down from my mother’s side,” says Viktor.
Yuuri’s fingers, which had been hovering inches from the surface of the eggs, now draw back as if burned. “So they’re real.”
“Well, my mother’s side used to be Russian nobility,” says Viktor, which isn’t exactly an answer, but Yuuri gets the gist of it anyway.
“What about your father’s side?” wonders Yuuri, now looking around at the rest of the furniture, most of which look like they belong in museums.
“Nouveau riche is the term, I think.” Viktor seems to find the patterns in the Persian rug at the foot of the four-poster bed to be more interesting. “Papa’s business took off in the mid-1990s when the wall came down. I only barely remember a more modest early childhood, and then…” he gestures to the room again. “It’s been like this since I left for Le Rosey.”
Yuuri crosses over to the bed, sits down heavily on the thick, ornate bedspread.
“Your family is ridiculous,” he states.
Viktor chuckles. “Yeah,” he agrees.
“What the hell,” Yuuri repeats.
“I knew you were… I knew you had money, but this –”
“I’m sorry,” says Viktor.
“No!” Yuuri swallows. “It’s… it’s just a lot, okay? Your parents’ house is… very nice. Really nice. Too nice, honestly. I just… give me a moment.”
Viktor nods, pursing his lips as he comes closer to Yuuri, pressing a kiss to his hair. Yuuri slowly exhales, trying to calm the racing of his heart. Surrounded by such lavish settings, he can’t help but feel that familiar squeeze in his chest, that familiar doubtful feeling that maybe Viktor’s making a mistake in choosing to marry him.
“We could go to the dacha, if you want to spend this vacation somewhere simpler,” Viktor says suddenly. “I know Rublyovka can be a bit overwhelming.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Yuuri mutters. “Living within spitting distance of the President and everything.”
Viktor claps his hands. “We’ll go to the dacha, then! It’ll be nice – Karelia is so nice this time of the year, and we’ll take my yacht out onto the lake. I’ll teach you how to drive it, and we’ll make love –”
Yuuri pinches the bridge of his nose. “Viktor, you didn’t tell me you had a yacht.”