A collective hush came over the small crowd of onlookers, as if for the moment, they were all holding their breath as they watched the dancers before them, knowing this was no ordinary first dance. It was a well-known tune, romantic, lovely, perhaps a little bit corny, but made for the ballet and the theater. Tony swept Anya across the floor, the two of them gliding in dizzying but graceful circles, before he spun her out and around and back into his arms, making it look as simple as breathing.

Just a hint of the ballet they both loved so well made itself known as she caressed his cheek, unable to keep that exaggerated motion under control until he claimed her waist once again, her hand finding a resting place on his shoulder. Speaking without words, they communicated in a way that was incredibly intimate, knowing one another so well that they did not truly need to share words to know what was coming next. And slowly, the simple waltz grew more complex, each spin and twirl hinting at something as yet unrevealed.

It was a familiar tune that was well known, and yet it was not wholly a waltz. As the music swelled and changed, the dance changed with it. What had started as a waltz turned into something far more intricate and complex with each spin and twirl, until it was uncertain what was coming next, each movement flowing into the next, until he was lifting her off her feet and setting her back down to spin her gracefully around and back into his arms.

And yet even that lift, as unexpected as it was, was merely tip of the iceberg. As the realization began to spread through those watching that this truly was no ordinary first dance, Anya rose en pointe and spun away from Tony, revealing the clever design of her gown and the white satin toe shoes she had changed into before they rejoined their guests. A collective gasp went up from those guests, even those who had suspected something like this, as she leapt backward into Tony's arms without even a glance in his direction, curling to him with a delighted smile while around them their family marveled at the trust they shared.

Tony knew this was Anya's moment; all eyes would be on her, as he led her and spun her and caught her and twirled her. It was more than just a dance; it was a partnership - each trusting the other, each knowing the other implicitly and knowing what the other would do. They had danced this dance countless times, but never before as husband and wife. When the spring gala finally arrived in May, they would no longer be billed as Tony De Luca and Anya Komarova; they would be Tony and Anya De Luca - partners not only on stage, but in life. She trusted him like no other, and like in the ballet, he would always be there for her; he would never let her fall.

As the music came to a swelling crescendo, they danced away from each other for the space of a few heartbeats, until they came back together and he lifted her high in his arms, circling in place, like she was floating on air, before catching her in his arms and settling her gracefully back on her feet. He slipped an arm around her waist, and lifted her again, as they spun around once and she twirled away from him and back again.

It was her role to make the lift beautiful, to assume a position that pleased the eye as he showed her off to everyone who watched, and for once, that position was not stiff and perfect. There was a fluid fragility in the way her arms moved, in the hang of her gown, that lent an air of possession to his embrace as he drew her back down into his arms. Possessiveness that he could now fully display, with his ring sparkling on her finger, knowing that no man would ever be able to claim his tiny dancer again. Anya spun back to him as the waltz returned to the music, her sleeves cascading down as once more she found herself in her husband's arms, stealing a kiss that was unchoreographed and unstudied, a pure example of the tender affection they shared.

Like that first dance they had shared over a year ago during the unexpected reunion that had rekindled the flame of the love that had never quite burned out, he was completely enraptured, as if he was under some spell. He danced only for her, only with her. There was no denying that they belonged together, on stage and in life. They were of one heart, one mind, one soul, and when they danced together it was like watching two people make love. Her lips touched his, stealing a kiss, as he took her again into his arms. He was never happier than when he was dancing with his Anya, his little ballerina, his tiny dancer. As the music slowed, so, too, did the dance, and he finished it with a kiss as passionate as the passion with which they both danced.

Whether there was any applause from their captive audience, Anya could never tell in the years to come. When she told the story of her wedding day, it was in pieces, leaping from one moment of perfect romance to the next, revolving around her beloved husband and the joyful delight of knowing she belonged to him. They had danced pas seule and pas de deux, but this would be their grande pas, the celebration of all that had gone before and all that would come after. Whether they laughed or cried, whether they found success or failed, Tony and Anya would forever be dancing in one another's arms, to the beat of their own hearts in perfect time.

((They're married! But hold on - Part 1 of the honeymoon is pending, and Part 2 will be up later today! And, of course, enormously magniflorious thanks to Tony's player!))