((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."

"And how did he do that?" Tony asked, wanting to know more. It was no big secret that he was a little intimidated by the elder Komarov, and to hear Anya speak of her childhood memories helped Tony to see her father in a different light.

"He had no idea," she laughed cheerfully. "He tried to take me to see the Winter Palace, but what seven year old enjoys art and architecture" I screamed when he tried to take me shopping, because I was always afraid of the security guards and he did not know that. He was completely lost, and eventually I remember just sitting at the edge of the canal with him, eating chak-chak and baked apples, while he complained that he did not know anything about being a Papa." Her smile gentled as she considered this. "He thought he had done so badly. I did not like anything he took me to, I ate far too many sweets and threw up everywhere. He never could understand why I told Mama it was my favorite New Year ever."

Tony chuckled at her story, trying his best to imagine it in his head, though he had not known Anya or her father then and could only visualize the scene through the few photos she'd allowed him to see. "Because you threw up?" he teased with a smirk, knowing that wasn't the reason. The waiter returned with their hors d'oeuvres and set the plates on the table, to which Tony muttered a quiet, "Grazie."

Offering a smile in thanks to their waiter, Anya lifted her napkin down onto her thigh as she considered the contents of the plates in front of them. "Because I had him all to myself," she told her husband simply. "For the first time. And after that, every Sunday was our time. He made sure I had a few hours that belonged just to him. He even locked the boys in their bedroom once for trying to muscle in on it."

"I'm glad you had that with your father," Tony said as he shook his own napkin out onto his lap. He could tell they were very close, and he knew her father was very protective of her. "How'd he ever let you come to New York?" he asked, prompting her further. He still felt a little guilty for the trouble she'd gotten into in New York because of his sister, but all he could do about it was keep an extra close eye on her and make sure no one ever tried to hurt her again.

"Well, he did not want me to leave Russia," she conceded. "He wanted me to stay inside his sphere of influence. But I was determined. I wanted to make a career for myself, and I had been offered that spot in New York." She bit her lip thoughtfully for a moment as she looked down at the two servings before them. "I think, personally, that he expanded his sphere of influence to keep an eye on me."

"I wouldn't blame him if he did," Tony agreed, though he wasn't quite sure what she meant by that remark and wasn't sure he wanted to know. Whatever her father did for a living had always been something of a mystery to Tony and he thought it was probably better that way. He followed her gaze to the two plates, both of which looked delicious, one a scallops dish and one featuring prawns. "Should we share?" he asked, fork poised for a bite, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Hmm ....da," she nodded quickly. "Yes, we should share." She skewered an unfortunate prawn on her fork and offered it to him with a smile. "I do not know precisely what Papa does," she admitted softly. "I know he has a lot of influence, a lot of powerful friends. I do not think I truly want to know, and he seems to think that not telling me keeps me safe. I want to extend that protection to you. He is a businessman, that is all."

Tony frowned a little at his wife's non-explanation of her father's profession. Marco Nicoletti had been a "businessman", as well, but Tony thought now was not the time or the place to point it out. Whatever Anya's father did for a living was none of his business, anyway. He opened his mouth to accept the prawn, returning the favor by skewering a scallop on the end of his fork and offering it to her. It took a moment to chew and swallow the delicacy, nodding in appreciation. "That's good," he said appreciatively, choosing English to Italian this once.

"Mmm ..." She nodded in agreement as she chewed the scallop he offered her, rolling her eyes in appreciation of the cuisine she was being introduced to, one dish at a time. Swallowing, she smiled. "You are definitely spoiling me now, lyubimaya. I was right. I will be rotund enough to please your mother by the time we get home."

"Not rotund enough for her to think you're pregnant." Not in a week, anyway. "Besides, it won't last. We have Le Corsaire coming up." And with him playing the lead role, he was bound to slim back out very quickly. The thought of fooling his mother into thinking Anya was pregnant did bring a mischievous smirk to his lips though. "Wouldn't it be funny if she thought you were pregnant?" he asked, as he skewered a scallop for himself.

"She would kill you when she found out it was a trick," Anya predicted laughingly, tasting the prawns now as she grinned with her mischievous husband. "Although that would be funny to watch in itself, don't you agree?"

"What trick" Is it my fault if she thinks you're pregnant when you're not?" He smirked around a forkful of scallop, though the talk of pregnancy made him think of Mataya again. It had been hours since they'd heard anything, and he was hoping no news was good news. "I wonder if she's had the baby yet," he mused, though if she had, he certainly would have received a phone call by now.

"She will say it is your fault for letting her believe it," his wife smirked back at him. She loved the by-play and banter that existed between her husband's family, however contentious it might seem at times. Despite the rift that currently existed, there was a lot of love among the De Lucas, and it was a privilege to have been invited to be a part of it. As his thoughts turned to his laboring sister, she glanced at the clock that stood over the bar. "It takes a long time to birth a child, I believe," she offered, a little superfluously. "But they could call at any time. If they have not by the time we have finished dinner, we should call them."

He nodded, more at her reply regarding his sister than the prospect of teasing his mother. "She was four centimeters when Mamma called earlier." He paused a moment, not really knowing what that meant, given he'd never had much experience with childbirth. "Is that a lot?" he asked curiously as he picked at another prawn. Though a very intelligent man, he did not know everything.

He felt the phone buzz beneath his hand and glanced down to read the text that had been returned, surprisingly coming from Theresa, not Elena. His face brightened as he read her message, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety as he realized the birth of his newest niece or nephew was imminent. "Theresa says it won't be long," he passed the message along to Anya, exhaling a deep breath, feeling a little relieved, though it wasn't over yet.

The waiter returned with their first course and set the plates on the table, the courses following one after the other at a steady, but unrushed pace.

Anya's smile deepened, brightening her entire face as he relayed the message. She was as concerned for Mataya as he was, though she did not show it so much, not feeling it was her right to share that depth of worry. "Well, that is good news, is it not?" she giggled softly. "Not simply that it is not long, but that it was Theresa who told you."

"Yeah, I guess it is," he admitted, laughing a little at his own worries. "Looks like we might have another reason to celebrate soon." He smiled over at her, as if their marriage wasn't enough to celebrate already. Both their wedding and the birth of Mataya's first child had been a long time coming, and he knew his sister was as happy for him as he was for her. "You might have to learn how to change diapers, mia cara," he teased.

"Only might?" She seemed almost offended by this, giggling as she cut into what she assumed was a very small chicken on her plate. "Are we not already volunteered to babysit the new baby, lyubimaya?"

He winced a little at the very idea of babies and diapers. While he was happy for Mataya and assumed he and Anya would have children someday, poopy diapers and baby vomit were not exactly on his list of favorite things. "If Theresa has anything to say about it, we are," he murmured a reply as he set his phone aside and took up knife and fork.

She laughed, offering him a forkful of meat and ravioli, not so subtly testing the undisclosed fowl on her husband before attempting it for herself. "It seems as though she has found a place to be needed, don't you think?"

"Theresa has always been good with babies. All she talked about when she was little was getting married and having kids someday." He smiled as he realized what she was getting at. "'Tay could use her help, if Mamma doesn't take over first." He opened his mouth for the bit of meat and ravioli she was offering, pausing a moment to savor the taste of the mixture before nodding his head in approval. "Buono," he gave his approval.

Reassured by the fact that Tony hadn't had a bad reaction to the unidentified on her plate, Anya loaded a fork for herself, sharing his smile as he determined what Theresa was now in a special position of providing for all of them. Rosita might be Nonna, but Theresa was the first of them all to have had children herself. She was the go-to person for up to date advice. "That was really all she wanted?" she asked, a little bemused. "You were all so focused upon career, I did not think she had given her own up by choice."

"She met Lance and they fell in love and that was that," Tony explained, though it was a little more complicated than that. He had often wondered if Theresa hadn't rushed things a little after their father had left so that she could replace the family that was falling apart with one of her own, but it was only a guess. Whatever had been Theresa's motivations for getting married and starting a family so young, she had certainly stuck with it and didn't seem unhappy about the choices she'd made. "We all made our own choices."

"You all grew up," Anya said softly, her smile just a little sad that for some of them, that transition from child to adult had been more rushed than it should have been. "And you are a family I am very proud to be able to say I am now a part of. It is a shame we did not meet sooner. Maybe we could have married all my brothers to all your sisters," she added in a tease, green eyes glittering playfully in the candlelight.

He laughed at the idea of her brothers married to his sisters. "I think Lance and Max and Michael might have had something to say about that," he reminded her with a smirk, though Max and Mataya's relationship had been a little rocky at times, and Elena and Michael had only recently renewed their relationship, as well. "I'm sure your brothers will do just fine." If they hadn't already. He took up a bit of pork onto his fork and offered her a taste, just as she had offered some of her pigeon to him.

"Larisa and Irina are lovely women," Anya agreed with him cheerfully, leaning in to taste the mouthful he offered her with a low moan of delight. The food here in Tuscany was easily the best she had ever tasted, a real indulgence for her. "Now all I need is to get Iliya a wife or a boyfriend, and the set will be complete."

He chuckled again, this time at her suggestion that her eldest brother would be just as happy with either a man or a woman. Though Tony had always preferred women, he was not one to judge. "Does he have a preference?" he asked, taking up a bit of pork for himself. Italy was not the place to go if you were trying to watch your weight, but he was confident they'd work the week's worth of rich food off easily enough once they got back.

"Like I would know," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "The man is as easy to read as Greek." She paused to take a fresh sip of her wine. "Sometimes I think he is staying single just to annoy Mama."

"I seem to recall being accused of that myself," he reminded her with a grin. He waited until she set her glass down before refilling both glasses. If they weren't careful, they were going to get a bit tipsy, but they only had to walk down a few floors to get back to their room.

"Well, you were the most eligible bachelor in New York when I met you," Anya pointed out, her cheerful countenance warm with affection. "I seem to recall a number of magazines declaring themselves completely baffled that you had gone from playboy to settled down within a few weeks of our meeting. They were quite rude when I left, as I recall." Not that she cared now, or had ever cared about what the press had to say about her personal life. They didn't know her, after all.

"The press in the States does not understand ballet. They think if you are dancing with someone, you must be sleeping with them, as well." In truth, the only one of his ballerinas he'd ever had a lasting relationship with was Anya. Whether he'd slept with any of the others was a secret that was his to keep. "And what did the papers in Russia have to say about me" Or don't they care much for gossip?"

"Someday soon," she promised him, leaning down to kiss his lips, soft and loving. Her fingers curled in and out of his hair for a long moment before she drew back, retaking her seat with a faint blush for the murmur of approval that rippled around them for the kiss. "I do not think I will ever get used to how openly approving people are of love here."

"Not before the spring gala," he reminded her, touched by her open display of affection, reminding himself that they were in Italy, where no one would blame them for being too romantic or too emotional. "Italians enjoy life and value romance. If you like it here so much, we could come here more often," he told her. "We could even buy a villa, if you want. Come here between ballets." He hardly noticed the murmur of approval, or if he did, made no mention of it. He did, however, pick up his phone again so that he could return the text and let his family know he'd received it.

"Ah, then I would have to learn Italian properly, wouldn't I?" she teased him laughingly as she returned to her meal. "Not just rude comments you choose to teach me on whim. Or perhaps that one this morning was not so rude, perhaps I should repeat it to our waiter. What do you think?"

He barked a laugh at her question. "No, I think the young man who delivered our breakfast heard enough already." He leaned in, a hint of mischief sparkling in his own eyes. Apparently, he was not as ignorant of her language as she might think. "Maybe you'd like to tell them how much you love my *ss."

Anya's laugh in response to that was loud and bright, drawing fresh attention before she could quiet herself, snickering into her napkin for a long moment before she managed to calm enough for a little coherence. "That is not what I was trying to teach you," she giggled playfully. "But very close, well done!"

"Oh' What were you trying to teach me then?" he asked curiously, arching a dark brow as he took up fork and knife and went back to work on his dinner. He knew he was at least close to the correct meaning, though Russian was a difficult language to learn. Far more difficult than Italian, he thought.

"Let us just say that it was not your bottom you were talking about, shall we?" she offered in reply, catching a drip of sauce on her tongue before it escaped her mouth entirely. "And for a man who gave up so easily this morning, you certainly seem to know what you were talking about to begin with. Have you been taking lessons, lyubimaya?"

Hmm, okay, so he'd gotten his pronouns confused. It was a confusing language. He smirked as she found him out, though he'd never admit it. "Who me" Of course not. When would I have time for that?" He hummed innocently as he turned his attention to his pork and mashed potatoes.

"Well, I have no idea," she conceded. "Perhaps I should check the contents of your iPod." She grinned, touched that he was obviously attempting to learn her mother tongue. If it was intended as a surprise, then she wouldn't push any further, but it did spark the idea that perhaps she should look into actually learning Italian for herself.

"Do I have to password lock it to keep you out?" he countered, though he was teasing, of course. He had very little to hide from her, except for that little surprise and perhaps a few others he was not yet ready to reveal. "Would you like me to learn it' Russian, I mean?" he inquired as he slid his cell phone back into his jacket, now that he knew Mataya's ordeal was over. He made a mental note to call home when they got back to their room and get all the details, but for now, it could wait a little while longer.

"I would be very honored if you chose to learn Russian," she admitted softly. "But I do understand it is a difficult language to navigate. It has different origins to Italian and other European languages, and does not share any similarities. If you feel comfortable to learn and speak it, then I would be delighted, but I will not expect it of you."

"It's good we both know English," he remarked with a grin, making no promises either way about learning her language. He was picking up a few words and phrases, but was a long way from fluent. Some of it he'd learned from her; some he was learning on his own.

"Our children will have interesting accents," she commented, flashing her own grin in return. After all, a combination of the Rhy'Din drawl, Tony's Brooklyn Italian, and her own rather pure Russian accent would certainly be entertaining.

"We should teach them to be tri-lingual," he suggested, though they both had no idea when they would actually start a family. They had only just gotten married and weren't even trying yet, but it didn't hurt to plan ahead.

She giggled again, shaking her head. "Do you really want your children discussing what they are about to do to you in a language you don't understand, lyubimaya?" she asked playfully, setting her knife and fork down. As lovely as the meal was, she knew the capacity of her own stomach.

"Well, then I will have to learn, too, won't I?" he countered, not having considered that before. It wasn't really an important decision to make just yet, but he was having fun teasing her. He glanced at her plate, seeing that she was finished eating, at least for now, another teasing smirk lighting his face. "I hope you left room for dessert." Dessert was the best part of dinner, after all. He finished off what remained of his pork and potatoes, leaving only a small bit untouched.

"I always have room for dessert," she promised him sweetly, adding for fun, "Osobenno, kogda ya mogu s'yest' yego ot vas." Her smile was a curious mix between wicked and innocent as she watched him, wondering if he would be able to work out what it was she had just said from what little he already knew.

He arched a brow, what little Russian he knew failing him, though from the look on her face, he assumed she was being naughty. It was a side of Anya that seemed to only be making itself known more recently and he wondered what had gotten into her. Besides himself. "You are teasing me, bella," he told her, reaching across the table to touch a finger to her nose. "I may have to make you pay for that later."

"Then I am sure your desires can be met as well," she grinned back to him, nuzzling close as the elevator came to a smooth stop on their floor. "You did remember the key, yes" Because I don't think I have it."

"I have the key," he assured her, in one of his many pockets, along with his wallet and phone, which had gone quiet and still since its last message sent announcing his new nephew's birth. "I wonder what they're going to name him," Tony mused regarding the newest member of the family. He didn't fathom a guess regarding who the proud Mamma and Papa might choose for godparents. He was already an uncle, and that was enough for him.

"Great Gonzo the Second?" Anya suggested laughingly, moving to step from the elevator. She couldn't even begin to hazard a guess as to what the newest member of the multicultural clan built around the De Lucas was going to end up being called.

Tony laughed, the sound of his laughter rich and happy. "God, I hope not. I don't think we have any Muppet blood, that I know of." He reached for her hand, linking her fingers with hers as they stepped from the elevator to wander slowly down the hall to their room.

Giggling, his wife let herself be led along the hallway, enjoying as much the feel of the thick carpet beneath her feet as she did the gentle warmth of his hand in hers. "If anyone is going to have a Muppet baby, it would be Mataya," she said playfully. "Slightly wacky and very loyal, fits her perfectly."

"Let's hope she picks a more fitting name than Gonzo," he remarked with a smile as they arrived at the door to their room. He fished the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. While they'd been away, the hotel had serviced their room, making the bed and leaving fresh towels and robes, and complimentary sweets. Room service, however, had not yet arrived, but would most likely be arriving shortly.

Anya's shoes made a satisfying thump against the carpet as they entered, her clutch echoing the sound as it landed on the coffee table. She stepped away from Tony, raising her arms in a stretch that elongated her back in that elegant curve all dancers seemed instinctively to manage whenever they needed to. "What would you name a son?" she asked him curiously as she contracted out of that stretch, rubbing a hand through her hair.

He closed the door behind them, admiring the view of his wife as she stretched, though he'd seen her do the very same thing hundreds of times. "I don't know," he admitted, knowing he would never name his son after himself or his father. Maybe her father, but not his. He closed the distance between them, catching her around the waist and drawing her close. "If we ever have a son, I'll worry about it then."

Surprised to be pulled close once more when they had to at least stay decent to receive their dessert at the door, Anya yipped softly as her body impacted against his with gentle force. "I would like to give you a son," she told him, teasing her fingertips through his hair. "But I would like more to give you a daughter."

"One of each," he declared, though they really had no choice in the matter. There was a fifty-fifty chance at a boy or a girl. "A perfect pair." He pushed her hair away from her neck and leaned in to brush his lips at the place just below her ear. The wine had loosened them both up, and now that they were alone, he wanted a different kind of dessert, though he knew he should call his sister first to make sure everything was all right with Mataya and the baby.

She swayed into his arms as he kissed her neck, her fingers flexing in and out of his hair in a gentle tug as she giggled softly at his firm declaration of their future. Tipsy as she was, however, she knew her husband pretty well, gently drawing back to brush a kiss to the tip of his nose. "Call your sister," she told him softly. "And then no more interruptions all night."

"Except for dessert," he reminded her with a grin. He wasn't feeling tipsy exactly, but he was feeling pretty relaxed. And why shouldn't he be? He had just married the most beautiful woman in the entire universe. He brushed a kiss against the tip of her nose. "Yes, dear," he teased in reply.

"Dessert doesn't count as an interruption, we're expecting it," she countered laughingly, easing herself back from him. One hand rummaged about in his pocket and came up with his phone, which she handed to him with a faint smirk. "Keep it short, and I will do something very unlike me as a reward," she promised him impishly.

"Oh?" He arched a brow, wondering what she could possibly be promising, but only one thing came to mind. "Are you going to lick the creme brulee I ordered for dessert off my, uh....stick-shift?" he asked with a smirk. Okay, so maybe he was feeling a little tipsy, after all.

"Is that unlike me?" she asked him innocently, batting her lashes as a knock sounded at the door. Grinning, she pointed at the phone. "Sister. Call." With a wink, she turned to catch up her clutch and head to the door, hoping like hell that her scratchy Italian would be good enough.

He gave her a slightly confused look. While their love life up to now hadn't been terribly kinky, he was not opposed to a little playful experimentation. He had to pull himself out of his thoughts as his mind imagined the possibilities so that he could do as she said and phone home. "You're just teasing me," he said as she headed for the door, and he picked up his phone, checking to see who it was that had texted him to make the big announcement.

Tess was the name that lit up his phone screen as the sound of Anya's terrible Italian filled his ears. Still, she was making an effort, and that won her points in the waiter's eyes, and it helped that she was cute.

He frowned a little, wondering if this was a good time to call. He tried to do the math in his head and sort out what time it was in Rhy'Din, but the wine seemed to have dulled his senses. Oh, well. The worst she could do was scold him. He started toward the bedroom to dump out the contents of his pockets on the nightstand before hitting the button that would connect him to Theresa's phone.

"Ti amo, ballerino," his estranged sister promised him with an audible grin. "Now get back to your blow job and enjoy your private time with your cute little blonde. We can pick this up when you get back. Oh! And don't forget to aww over the pictures!"

He chuckled at his sister's admonition, glad Anya couldn't hear it or his entire reputation as a gentleman might be ruined. "All right, all right. Give my love to everyone, especially to Mataya and the new bambino. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"You'd better. You owe me lunch from, like, twenty years ago." Laughing once again, Tess blew a loud kiss down the phone, her voice joined by Elena's in a raucous farewell. "Ciao, ballerino!"

"Ciao!" he replied, chuckling a little at his sisters' obvious raucousness. Well, at least, they were having a good time, and Tess was right. He'd be home soon and they could work it all out then, but for now, his time with Anya was his priority. Now that he knew Mataya and the baby were safe and sound, he could really relax and enjoy himself without worrying about their well-being. He sighed as he hung up the phone, punching a few buttons to pull up the photos of his new nephew.

Somehow, it had taken almost the entirety of his call to Tess for Anya to get their dessert and wine safely into the room and tip their waiter, both she and he navigating their very few words in common to make sense of each other. She was giggling as she thumped down beside her husband, though, a wide smile beaming on her lips. "Congratulate me, I gave an Italian a headache."

"So long as that Italian isn't me," he said with a smirk. He leaned close to show her the photos of his newborn nephew. "His name is Oscar," he told her as he held out his phone and turned it so she could get a good look at the photos, along with him.

"I could make other parts of you ache," she suggested impishly, distracted by the pictures he brought up one by one on his phone. Hugging into his side, she smiled as a succession of photographs revealed that everyone at home looked exhausted, though none more so than Mataya - exhausted but elated, because in every single picture was a tiny baby boy, scrunched up and very newly born. "Oh, lyubimaya, he is adorable!"

Tony twisted his head to get a better look at the baby boy in the photo, frowning thoughtfully. "He looks kind of....wrinkly," he declared, not having much knowledge or experience regarding newborns or anything to do with babies or small children really.

"Ooh, I know this one!" Excited by the fact that she actually knew the answer to a question he hadn't exactly asked, Anya bounced on the couch beside him, twisting to show him her grin. "It is all the squeezing and pushing. It is like if your head got squeezed through a hole this big." And to demonstrate, she held her hands up, the tips of her forefingers and thumbs touching to create a circle. "To be fair, I think you would look a little wrinkly too."

"I don't think I'd fit through a hole that big, Anya," Tony admitted. Or small, really. "He is kind of cute though, I guess. I can't tell if he looks more like Mataya or Max." He looked back at the photo as if trying to determine just that. He didn't want to think too hard about the "hole" the baby had come out of, since it belonged to his sister.

She giggled softly, cuddling into his side once again as they each scrutinized the pictures he'd been sent. "Why Oscar?" she asked him curiously, assuming he would know the reason for the name. It wasn't one she was entirely familiar with, on the whole.

"Because of the Oscar nomination, I think....The Academy Awards. She was nominated for Swan Song." Tony smiled at that. As far as he was concerned, it was about damned time his sister received a little recognition. Not only was she talented, but there was no one who put more effort into her work than Mataya. He'd accused her of being a workaholic more than once, but he wasn't much better.

"She was?" Either Anya hadn't been paying attention, or she'd been left out of the loop a little when it came to Mataya's achievements over the past few weeks. "She deserves it. I cried so much during the movie, they should have been handing out tissues at the door."

Tony chuckled. He'd found the movie a little depressing, but he had to admit that his sister and her co-star deserved some recognition for their roles. "Should we hand out tissues the next time we do Romeo and Juliet?" he asked. Or any of the great tragedies they brought to the stage, though it seemed people were more inclined to cry during movies and plays than the ballet.

"I think your sister might hurt us badly if we start to spend our budget on tissues," Anya mused playfully, sticking her tongue out at him like a child. "Are you happy you are an uncle again, lyubimaya?"

Tony had that thoughtful expression on his face again, contemplating her question a moment before answering. "You know, when Sofia and Marcus were born, I was too busy working to really appreciate it. Tess and I....We used to be close, but..." He shrugged. "Maybe this baby will bring us all back together again." He was hopeful anyway and his conversation with Theresa had been encouraging. Maybe they really could start over.

"Maybe he will." She was still for a long moment, sharing the hope that perhaps the rift in Tony's family was finally beginning to heal. Then, with one graceful motion, she rose, straddling his thighs as she laid her hands on the couch behind his head, nose to nose with her husband. "I put dessert in our fridge," she murmured, nuzzling to him with a teasing smile. "I think I will play with it later."

He lifted his gaze from the phone to follow her movement with his eyes, finding her suddenly on his lap, nose to nose with him. He set the phone aside, sliding his arms around her to pull her snugly against him. "Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. De Luca?" he asked with a soft smile.

"Mmm." She giggled softly as he drew her snug against him, deliberately rolling her hips just to make absolutely sure he knew what she had in mind. "I think, Mr. De Luca, that I want to practice making a baby," she murmured. "Just so we know exactly what we are doing when we decide it is time."

"Mmm," he murmured, as she pressed herself against him, the rolling of her hips having an obvious effect on his body, which was slowly warming to her. "Do you really think we need practice?" he asked as he leaned close to press his lips to hers in a lingering kiss.

She grinned against his lips, gently turning that roll into a rocking motion as her arms curled about him. "Would you ....rather ....leave it until ....we're ready?" she asked playfully, each pause finding a new kiss ready to devour his lips. He'd started it, after all. She was just being a good wife.

"Oh, I think we're more than ready," he replied with a grin, though it wasn't babies he thought they were ready for but something else. His arms already circling her, he slid his hands beneath her rear and moved to his feet to carry her into the bedroom to finish what they'd started, leaving his phone behind on the couch.

As laughter and teasing turned to loving sighs and moans, the illuminated display faded, leaving the face of the newly born Oscar gazing up at the ceiling while his uncle and aunt got on with renewing their excellent acquaintance with one another. A wedding and a birth, all in the same weekend. Who knew what Sunday would bring"

((Two things to celebrate in one weekend! How's that for a successful couple of days" Many huge, wondrous, amazed thanks to Tony's player!))