((Contains reference to adult situations.))
Once Tony had dismissed his worries about Mataya, he and Anya had gone on to have a wonderful day. They had wandered about the city, hand in hand, taking in the sights and sounds and flavors of Florence. They'd stopped in the afternoon for lunch at a sidewalk cafe and had ducked into the Basilica of Santa Croce to wonder over the tombs of Michelangelo, Galileo, and Machiavelli and admire the architecture and beauty of the place where such men had come to rest. The phone had remained quiet all afternoon, leaving them in peace, but also mystery as to Mataya's fate. When evening came at last, they returned to their hotel to freshen up and change for dinner, and still no word had arrived from Rhy'Din.
Tony changed into a dark suit and tie, looking very much like the native Italian he was. With his natural good looks, he could have easily pursued a career as a model or an actor, if his heart didn't first belong to the ballet. Together, he and Anya made a striking couple, one dark and one light, one tall and one small, both possessing bodies slender and graceful, both unusually attractive enough to draw looks wherever they went, even if they weren't recognized for who they were.
Tonight, only a short twenty-four hours after they'd been joined in holy matrimony, they arrived hand in hand, husband and wife, at the rooftop level of their hotel to have dinner high above the street level, with a full view of the city. As it turned out, he didn't have to announce their presence upon their arrival, as it seemed they had been expected, someone recognizing his name on the register of reservations for the evening. They were quickly escorted to a quiet table in a corner, where they had an exquisite view of the city, and left with menus and a complimentary bottle of wine. Sometimes it paid to be famous.
Anya did not think she could have asked for a more perfect day, even with the background anticipation and worry over what was happening on Rhy'Din. Florence had proved to be as beautiful from the ground as it was from their terrace, and with Tony to show her so much and tell her so much about it, she had happily lost the entire day in his company. By the time they returned to the hotel, she was as much in love with Italy as he was, and yet had seen so little of it. As she had promised early that morning, she made an effort to dress up for him, determined to show him off a little at dinner, her cocktail dress a deep shade of purple to compliment his dark suit. The recognition they received was discreet and understated, not enough to draw the attention of the other diners, for which she was very grateful as they took their seats at a corner of the glass-walled restaurant that held pride of place on the roof of their hotel.
"This is beautiful, Tony," she murmured as they settled together, enchanted as much by the city in the darkness as she was by the sophistication of their dining arrangements. "You are spoiling me."
"You deserve to be spoiled, Anya. I have four years of catching up to do, and I intend to spoil you as much as I can." He reached for her hand across the table, linking his fingers with hers, blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight, the city sparkling like a jewel all around them. "You look lovely, Anya. Mia bella." It seemed the longer they stayed in Italy, the more comfortable he felt with his Italian, the words creeping out here and there without even realizing it.
Topaz and diamond sparkled on her finger as she curled her hand into his grasp, blushing just enough to tint her cheeks with pale pink at his compliment. "Thank you," she smiled, accepting the praise with soft grace. "You are very handsome yourself, lyubimaya. I have the prettiest arm candy in the room." And that, right there, was evidence that she was spending a little too much time with his sisters.
"Arm candy?" he echoed, chuckling. He'd never heard her call him that before and suspected she'd been spending a little too much time with his sisters - Elena, in particular. He picked up a glass of wine and handed it to her before picking up one for himself. He noticed she was wearing the locket he'd given her once upon a time, many years ago, and that, too, brought a smile to his face. Though they'd been apart for four years, it appeared she had not forgotten him anymore than he'd forgotten her, but all that was behind them now, and the future looked brighter than ever. "What shall we drink to, mia cara?" There had already been so many toasts made in their honor; he had almost run out of things to drink to.
That locket rarely left her neck. He had given it to her on the advent of her twenty-first birthday, one of the most precious things she owned. The pictures inside had changed over time, always of him, and would, in the weeks to come, be replaced with their wedding pictures. It was a symbol of how steadfast both their hearts had been, despite their long separation, and Anya refused to entertain the notion that she might ever lose it. As he raised his glass, she raised her own, considering what they might drink to. "To us, lyubimaya," she said finally, a simple toast but one that struck a deep chord in her heart.
The toast was perfect in its simplicity, and he reached over to tap his glass gently against hers. "To us, Anya." To a long and happy life together, with or without babies to make his mother happy. "What do you think of Italy so far?" he asked, after taking a small sip of his wine.
The wine was perfect, a real treat for dancers who rarely indulged, if ever. Anya smiled in delight at the bouquet that filled her mouth as she sipped, setting her glass down before she answered. "I think it is the most beautiful place I have ever been," she told him sincerely, her eyes turning to look out over the moonlit city. "I have barely seen it yet, and it already holds my heart. There is such life here, such a joy taken in the past and the present. I am almost overwhelmed."
"It's unlike any other place on Earth," he remarked in complete agreement. "I don't remember much from my childhood," he continued, taking another sip of his wine before setting the glass aside. He rarely, if ever, spoke of his past, and it was even rarer to hear him speak of his childhood, whether it was the years he spent here in Italy or in New York. "I'll have to bring you back here someday. We can't possibly see it all in a week."
"We will come back," she promised him softly. "And again, with our children, too. They should learn to love the land their father comes from, as much as he does." It went without saying that she expected to take their future family to Russia as well, though she doubted Tony would ever love her homeland as much as she did. "What do you remember of Italy, from when you were a child, lyubimaya?"
He would have remarked on Russia, promising to visit there, as well, to take in the sights of her homeland the same way she was taking in his. Perhaps in the months to come, at some point when they could get away from the theater for a few weeks, and then she could show him her beloved Russia the way he was showing her his beloved Italia. He shrugged his shoulders at the question. He had not been very old when his father had moved the family to New York, so there wasn't much to remember. He had to think on that a moment, his mind going back to the very first memories of his childhood, a long time ago. "I remember the market," he said at last. "Mamma used to take me with her sometimes, and the vendors would give me little tastes of this and that."
Once Tony had dismissed his worries about Mataya, he and Anya had gone on to have a wonderful day. They had wandered about the city, hand in hand, taking in the sights and sounds and flavors of Florence. They'd stopped in the afternoon for lunch at a sidewalk cafe and had ducked into the Basilica of Santa Croce to wonder over the tombs of Michelangelo, Galileo, and Machiavelli and admire the architecture and beauty of the place where such men had come to rest. The phone had remained quiet all afternoon, leaving them in peace, but also mystery as to Mataya's fate. When evening came at last, they returned to their hotel to freshen up and change for dinner, and still no word had arrived from Rhy'Din.
Tony changed into a dark suit and tie, looking very much like the native Italian he was. With his natural good looks, he could have easily pursued a career as a model or an actor, if his heart didn't first belong to the ballet. Together, he and Anya made a striking couple, one dark and one light, one tall and one small, both possessing bodies slender and graceful, both unusually attractive enough to draw looks wherever they went, even if they weren't recognized for who they were.
Tonight, only a short twenty-four hours after they'd been joined in holy matrimony, they arrived hand in hand, husband and wife, at the rooftop level of their hotel to have dinner high above the street level, with a full view of the city. As it turned out, he didn't have to announce their presence upon their arrival, as it seemed they had been expected, someone recognizing his name on the register of reservations for the evening. They were quickly escorted to a quiet table in a corner, where they had an exquisite view of the city, and left with menus and a complimentary bottle of wine. Sometimes it paid to be famous.
Anya did not think she could have asked for a more perfect day, even with the background anticipation and worry over what was happening on Rhy'Din. Florence had proved to be as beautiful from the ground as it was from their terrace, and with Tony to show her so much and tell her so much about it, she had happily lost the entire day in his company. By the time they returned to the hotel, she was as much in love with Italy as he was, and yet had seen so little of it. As she had promised early that morning, she made an effort to dress up for him, determined to show him off a little at dinner, her cocktail dress a deep shade of purple to compliment his dark suit. The recognition they received was discreet and understated, not enough to draw the attention of the other diners, for which she was very grateful as they took their seats at a corner of the glass-walled restaurant that held pride of place on the roof of their hotel.
"This is beautiful, Tony," she murmured as they settled together, enchanted as much by the city in the darkness as she was by the sophistication of their dining arrangements. "You are spoiling me."
"You deserve to be spoiled, Anya. I have four years of catching up to do, and I intend to spoil you as much as I can." He reached for her hand across the table, linking his fingers with hers, blue eyes twinkling in the candlelight, the city sparkling like a jewel all around them. "You look lovely, Anya. Mia bella." It seemed the longer they stayed in Italy, the more comfortable he felt with his Italian, the words creeping out here and there without even realizing it.
Topaz and diamond sparkled on her finger as she curled her hand into his grasp, blushing just enough to tint her cheeks with pale pink at his compliment. "Thank you," she smiled, accepting the praise with soft grace. "You are very handsome yourself, lyubimaya. I have the prettiest arm candy in the room." And that, right there, was evidence that she was spending a little too much time with his sisters.
"Arm candy?" he echoed, chuckling. He'd never heard her call him that before and suspected she'd been spending a little too much time with his sisters - Elena, in particular. He picked up a glass of wine and handed it to her before picking up one for himself. He noticed she was wearing the locket he'd given her once upon a time, many years ago, and that, too, brought a smile to his face. Though they'd been apart for four years, it appeared she had not forgotten him anymore than he'd forgotten her, but all that was behind them now, and the future looked brighter than ever. "What shall we drink to, mia cara?" There had already been so many toasts made in their honor; he had almost run out of things to drink to.
That locket rarely left her neck. He had given it to her on the advent of her twenty-first birthday, one of the most precious things she owned. The pictures inside had changed over time, always of him, and would, in the weeks to come, be replaced with their wedding pictures. It was a symbol of how steadfast both their hearts had been, despite their long separation, and Anya refused to entertain the notion that she might ever lose it. As he raised his glass, she raised her own, considering what they might drink to. "To us, lyubimaya," she said finally, a simple toast but one that struck a deep chord in her heart.
The toast was perfect in its simplicity, and he reached over to tap his glass gently against hers. "To us, Anya." To a long and happy life together, with or without babies to make his mother happy. "What do you think of Italy so far?" he asked, after taking a small sip of his wine.
The wine was perfect, a real treat for dancers who rarely indulged, if ever. Anya smiled in delight at the bouquet that filled her mouth as she sipped, setting her glass down before she answered. "I think it is the most beautiful place I have ever been," she told him sincerely, her eyes turning to look out over the moonlit city. "I have barely seen it yet, and it already holds my heart. There is such life here, such a joy taken in the past and the present. I am almost overwhelmed."
"It's unlike any other place on Earth," he remarked in complete agreement. "I don't remember much from my childhood," he continued, taking another sip of his wine before setting the glass aside. He rarely, if ever, spoke of his past, and it was even rarer to hear him speak of his childhood, whether it was the years he spent here in Italy or in New York. "I'll have to bring you back here someday. We can't possibly see it all in a week."
"We will come back," she promised him softly. "And again, with our children, too. They should learn to love the land their father comes from, as much as he does." It went without saying that she expected to take their future family to Russia as well, though she doubted Tony would ever love her homeland as much as she did. "What do you remember of Italy, from when you were a child, lyubimaya?"
He would have remarked on Russia, promising to visit there, as well, to take in the sights of her homeland the same way she was taking in his. Perhaps in the months to come, at some point when they could get away from the theater for a few weeks, and then she could show him her beloved Russia the way he was showing her his beloved Italia. He shrugged his shoulders at the question. He had not been very old when his father had moved the family to New York, so there wasn't much to remember. He had to think on that a moment, his mind going back to the very first memories of his childhood, a long time ago. "I remember the market," he said at last. "Mamma used to take me with her sometimes, and the vendors would give me little tastes of this and that."