The loud chatter of little people filing out of the dance studio after their ballet lesson was one of Anya's favourite sounds. She loved to hear her little students declaring their excitement to their parents about the fun they'd had with Madame Anya, and even more so when one of those little ones was her own daughter, Sofia. At five years old, Sofia had picked up very quickly on the fact that Madame Anya was not Mama, but delighted in being able to throw herself at the teacher when lessons came to an end. Now, hand in hand with her mother, resplendent in her adorable tutu and the topknot bun that only barely held her exuberant dark hair in place, she was tugging hopefully along to Studio C, from which they could hear the sound of the Russian dance from the Nutcracker. Tony was going over a few of the basics with Jamie, at the younger dancer's request, under the watchful eyes of a one-year old with escapist tendencies.
It seemed the men were finished with the unofficial lesson and were chatting amiably about the upcoming auditions, guessing who might or might not audition for another year. Tony was confident Jamie would audition again, and there was no reason why he wouldn't be hired. Auditions, for some, was just a formality, but it wouldn't be fair for hopefuls weren't given a chance.
With a quick check through the glass window to make sure Sasha wasn't lying in wait for the door to open, Anya pushed inside, letting Sofia abandon her hand to patter over to Tony excitedly. "Papa, papa, I did a pirry wet!"
Tony's attention was momentarily distracted from Jamie by the little girl's arrival, but instead of scolding her for interrupting, he only smiled. "You did?" he said. "Let's see!"
Meanwhile, Sasha found his mother's leg and latched on with a muttered, "Mamamamama."
"Hello, malyutka," Anya said cheerfully, bending to lift Sasha up onto her hip and kiss his cheek. "Did you have fun watching your Papa dancing with Jamie?"
Across the room, Sofia executed a pirouette with far more enthusiasm than skill, but did manage to do it without falling over.
Jamie chuckled, applauding her. "You're gettin' so good at that!"
"Molto bene, Sofi!" Tony exclaimed, applauding the five-year-old's attempt. She was no prima ballerina yet, but one had to start somewhere. "She's bound and determined to dance with you," he told Jamie, on the sly.
Meanwhile, Sasha was nodding his head enthusiastically at his mother, before pressing his cheek to her shoulder and sticking his thumb in his mouth.
"Give her a few more years, she might find her own cavalier," Jamie pointed out, but that didn't stop him from lifting Sofia up to twirl her around in the air, filling the studio with her giggles.
"You are going to make every little girl in my class so jealous of her," Anya commented, rubbing her cheek against Sasha's head even as she gently removed the boy's thumb from his mouth.
"Only if they find out," Tony remarked, moving over to greet Anya with a soft kiss. Even after all these years and a pair of children, the pair seemed as in love with each other as they had ever been. He knew all the little girls in Anya's class had secret crushes on one dancer or another, and for Sofia, it seemed to be Jamie.
"That is very true," Anya agreed, smiling as she took Tony's kiss and returned it fondly. They heard Sofia grunt as Jamie dropped her down into the safe cradle of his arms, the breath knocked out of her for a moment.
"I wanna learn all the pretty lifts," the little girl declared.
"All in good time, dolcezza," Tony called over to his daughter. "If you work hard, you can be as good as your mama someday," he added. Rome wasn't built in a day, after all, but with hard work, he believed anything was possible.
Sofia pouted. "But what if I get too big to pick up?" she asked, a worry that need not have bothered her. She might have been dark haired like her father, but her build very much echoed Anya's tiny frame.
Tony chuckled at his daughter's question. "Well, then you will just need a bigger cavalier!" he said, with a twinkle in his dark eyes. He did not want her to worry about such things ever, especially not at such a young age. "One like me, perhaps," he said, stealing her from Jamie's arms and twirling her about the room.
"Still callin' me scrawny, aye?" Jamie accused cheerfully, happy to let the daughter go back to her father's arms. Sofia's pout dissolved into a wide grin as she was twirled about, feet flying, once again painting the air with giggles.
Tony laughed. No one had ever accused Jamie of being scrawny - certainly not the ballerinas who trusted themselves to his arms - but teasing him was all in good fun. In truth, Tony towered over most of the male dancers, but that, in itself, was not what had made his career a success.
"Only compared to me, Jamie!" he called over, before smooching Sofia's cheek and tucking her against his side. "Shall we stop by for one of Aunt Elena's treats before going home, dolcezza?" he asked his daughter.
Sofia's eyes went wide with delighted surprise. "Weelly?" she asked hopefully, hugging him around the neck. "Can I have a brownie" With ice cream?"
"We'll have to ask your mama first, but I think your first pirry wet deserves some kind of reward, don't you think?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question aimed at her, so much as at her mother.
"Mama never says no to a sweet treat from Aunt Elena's," Anya assured the little girl, chuckling as Sofia crowed in delight. "What do you think, malyutka?" she added to the sleepy boy resting on her shoulder. "Would you like something from Aunt Elena's special kitchen?"
Sasha nodded his head again, though it was clear what the little boy really needed was a nap.
Tony chuckled again, as he set Sofia on her feet. "I can take him, Anya. He's had a busy day."
"I am all right for now," Anya assured him. "You can carry him after we leave Elena's. He will be very heavy by then." She winked down at Sofia, who giggled, clinging to her father's hand happily.
Jamie grinned at the little family. "Well, I'll be off, then," he said. "I've a husband who'll be pretending to have slaved over a hot stove waiting for me."
Tony smiled and waved back at Jamie, as Sofia claimed his other hand. He might have invited the young man along, but he knew he was eager to get home. "Say hello for us! We'll see you soon!"
"Aye, I will do," Jamie called back cheerfully. "We'll get you over for dinner sometime soon!"
Anya laughed quietly as the door closed at his back, turning to her husband and daughter. "I suppose we should get going too."
"I suppose we should," Tony said, smiling down at his pretty wife. It was a short walk to his sister's cafe anyway, and he had promised Sofia a treat. "What else did you learn today, piccolina?" he asked their daughter as they started toward the door.
"Madame Anya said we can learn an arry beks," Sofia informed him, quite content to chatter her way out of the studio and down the road, describing the lesson and how much fun she'd had learning a new little dance for the end of the lesson itself.
Tony couldn't help but smirk as Sofia referred to her mother as "Madame Anya", as though she were a different person all together. "Did she?" he said, with a sidelong glance at Anya and that smirk of amusement on his face. "What else did Madame Anya say?"
"She said I have blunt feets but not all the time," was Sofia's answer to that. "But she says everyone has blunt feets when they legs is short."
Anya bit down on her laugh, her expression a near matching smirk to Tony's.
"Blunt feets?" Tony echoed, turning a curious glance to Anya, as if he was in need of translation. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that, but he did know that it took years for a girl to train her feet to withstand the rigors of ballet.
"We have not started to work on smoothing our lines yet," Anya told him, clarifying her comment. Essentially, just getting the leg up in the air for a five year old was enough without worrying about pointing her toes as well.
"Ah, I see," Tony said, with a nod of his head. "You will get there someday, Sofi, if that is what you want." He never wanted his children to think that they had to become dancers only because their parents were dancers. He wanted them to be free to choose for themselves.
"I like dancin'," Sofia assured him, swinging her hand back and forth in his grip as they walked. "I like colorin', too. I like lots of things."
"It's good to like lots of things," he assured her. "You have lots of time to try lots of things and see what you like," he added. There was no need to decide what she wanted to do for the rest of her life just yet. She was only five, after all, and he wanted her to have fun.
"I can't fly," she offered up with a grin. "I tried. I went bump, and it hurt."
Behind them, Anya chuckled under her breath, remembering that experiment in a better light than she had seen it at the time. Watching your five year old daughter throw herself out of a tree was enough to stop your heart for several seconds, she now knew.
It seemed the men were finished with the unofficial lesson and were chatting amiably about the upcoming auditions, guessing who might or might not audition for another year. Tony was confident Jamie would audition again, and there was no reason why he wouldn't be hired. Auditions, for some, was just a formality, but it wouldn't be fair for hopefuls weren't given a chance.
With a quick check through the glass window to make sure Sasha wasn't lying in wait for the door to open, Anya pushed inside, letting Sofia abandon her hand to patter over to Tony excitedly. "Papa, papa, I did a pirry wet!"
Tony's attention was momentarily distracted from Jamie by the little girl's arrival, but instead of scolding her for interrupting, he only smiled. "You did?" he said. "Let's see!"
Meanwhile, Sasha found his mother's leg and latched on with a muttered, "Mamamamama."
"Hello, malyutka," Anya said cheerfully, bending to lift Sasha up onto her hip and kiss his cheek. "Did you have fun watching your Papa dancing with Jamie?"
Across the room, Sofia executed a pirouette with far more enthusiasm than skill, but did manage to do it without falling over.
Jamie chuckled, applauding her. "You're gettin' so good at that!"
"Molto bene, Sofi!" Tony exclaimed, applauding the five-year-old's attempt. She was no prima ballerina yet, but one had to start somewhere. "She's bound and determined to dance with you," he told Jamie, on the sly.
Meanwhile, Sasha was nodding his head enthusiastically at his mother, before pressing his cheek to her shoulder and sticking his thumb in his mouth.
"Give her a few more years, she might find her own cavalier," Jamie pointed out, but that didn't stop him from lifting Sofia up to twirl her around in the air, filling the studio with her giggles.
"You are going to make every little girl in my class so jealous of her," Anya commented, rubbing her cheek against Sasha's head even as she gently removed the boy's thumb from his mouth.
"Only if they find out," Tony remarked, moving over to greet Anya with a soft kiss. Even after all these years and a pair of children, the pair seemed as in love with each other as they had ever been. He knew all the little girls in Anya's class had secret crushes on one dancer or another, and for Sofia, it seemed to be Jamie.
"That is very true," Anya agreed, smiling as she took Tony's kiss and returned it fondly. They heard Sofia grunt as Jamie dropped her down into the safe cradle of his arms, the breath knocked out of her for a moment.
"I wanna learn all the pretty lifts," the little girl declared.
"All in good time, dolcezza," Tony called over to his daughter. "If you work hard, you can be as good as your mama someday," he added. Rome wasn't built in a day, after all, but with hard work, he believed anything was possible.
Sofia pouted. "But what if I get too big to pick up?" she asked, a worry that need not have bothered her. She might have been dark haired like her father, but her build very much echoed Anya's tiny frame.
Tony chuckled at his daughter's question. "Well, then you will just need a bigger cavalier!" he said, with a twinkle in his dark eyes. He did not want her to worry about such things ever, especially not at such a young age. "One like me, perhaps," he said, stealing her from Jamie's arms and twirling her about the room.
"Still callin' me scrawny, aye?" Jamie accused cheerfully, happy to let the daughter go back to her father's arms. Sofia's pout dissolved into a wide grin as she was twirled about, feet flying, once again painting the air with giggles.
Tony laughed. No one had ever accused Jamie of being scrawny - certainly not the ballerinas who trusted themselves to his arms - but teasing him was all in good fun. In truth, Tony towered over most of the male dancers, but that, in itself, was not what had made his career a success.
"Only compared to me, Jamie!" he called over, before smooching Sofia's cheek and tucking her against his side. "Shall we stop by for one of Aunt Elena's treats before going home, dolcezza?" he asked his daughter.
Sofia's eyes went wide with delighted surprise. "Weelly?" she asked hopefully, hugging him around the neck. "Can I have a brownie" With ice cream?"
"We'll have to ask your mama first, but I think your first pirry wet deserves some kind of reward, don't you think?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question aimed at her, so much as at her mother.
"Mama never says no to a sweet treat from Aunt Elena's," Anya assured the little girl, chuckling as Sofia crowed in delight. "What do you think, malyutka?" she added to the sleepy boy resting on her shoulder. "Would you like something from Aunt Elena's special kitchen?"
Sasha nodded his head again, though it was clear what the little boy really needed was a nap.
Tony chuckled again, as he set Sofia on her feet. "I can take him, Anya. He's had a busy day."
"I am all right for now," Anya assured him. "You can carry him after we leave Elena's. He will be very heavy by then." She winked down at Sofia, who giggled, clinging to her father's hand happily.
Jamie grinned at the little family. "Well, I'll be off, then," he said. "I've a husband who'll be pretending to have slaved over a hot stove waiting for me."
Tony smiled and waved back at Jamie, as Sofia claimed his other hand. He might have invited the young man along, but he knew he was eager to get home. "Say hello for us! We'll see you soon!"
"Aye, I will do," Jamie called back cheerfully. "We'll get you over for dinner sometime soon!"
Anya laughed quietly as the door closed at his back, turning to her husband and daughter. "I suppose we should get going too."
"I suppose we should," Tony said, smiling down at his pretty wife. It was a short walk to his sister's cafe anyway, and he had promised Sofia a treat. "What else did you learn today, piccolina?" he asked their daughter as they started toward the door.
"Madame Anya said we can learn an arry beks," Sofia informed him, quite content to chatter her way out of the studio and down the road, describing the lesson and how much fun she'd had learning a new little dance for the end of the lesson itself.
Tony couldn't help but smirk as Sofia referred to her mother as "Madame Anya", as though she were a different person all together. "Did she?" he said, with a sidelong glance at Anya and that smirk of amusement on his face. "What else did Madame Anya say?"
"She said I have blunt feets but not all the time," was Sofia's answer to that. "But she says everyone has blunt feets when they legs is short."
Anya bit down on her laugh, her expression a near matching smirk to Tony's.
"Blunt feets?" Tony echoed, turning a curious glance to Anya, as if he was in need of translation. He wasn't entirely sure what she meant by that, but he did know that it took years for a girl to train her feet to withstand the rigors of ballet.
"We have not started to work on smoothing our lines yet," Anya told him, clarifying her comment. Essentially, just getting the leg up in the air for a five year old was enough without worrying about pointing her toes as well.
"Ah, I see," Tony said, with a nod of his head. "You will get there someday, Sofi, if that is what you want." He never wanted his children to think that they had to become dancers only because their parents were dancers. He wanted them to be free to choose for themselves.
"I like dancin'," Sofia assured him, swinging her hand back and forth in his grip as they walked. "I like colorin', too. I like lots of things."
"It's good to like lots of things," he assured her. "You have lots of time to try lots of things and see what you like," he added. There was no need to decide what she wanted to do for the rest of her life just yet. She was only five, after all, and he wanted her to have fun.
"I can't fly," she offered up with a grin. "I tried. I went bump, and it hurt."
Behind them, Anya chuckled under her breath, remembering that experiment in a better light than she had seen it at the time. Watching your five year old daughter throw herself out of a tree was enough to stop your heart for several seconds, she now knew.