((Contains reference to adult situations.))

One thing the poets all agree on ....Tuscany is beautiful. A peculiar quality of the sunlight softens and sharpens at the same time, highlighting the rolling hills and sparkling waters; the moonlight spills silver over those same vistas, and the eye will see something unexpected and wonderful in each view. And the crowning glory of Tuscany is Florence, with its renaissance domes and gorgeous villas, the river running through a center of beauty the like of which cannot be seen elsewhere on Earth. This was where the renaissance of art and literature had begun, and still, more than four hundred years later, it was a city that opened its arms to all. The perfect place to spend a honeymoon, for lovers who had experienced their own renaissance not so very long ago.

A late arrival in the city the night before after a long day spent in the company of family and friends had, unfortunately, delayed the consummation of the marriage, but they had plenty of time for that. As dawn rose, Anastasia De Luca rolled onto her back, stretching luxuriously beneath the covers, her eyes opening to take in the rich warmth of coral and peach, deep red and light mahogany that surrounded her. Their suite at this particular hotel had been chosen by Rosita, and paid for by her own parents, Andrei and Katarina, and Anya did not think they could have chosen a better place. She turned her head to look over at her sleeping husband, smiling tenderly as her fingers stroked against his arm, distracted by the sparkle of her rings in the golden dawn light.

The sounds of the city awakening filtered in through the open windows, and she suddenly felt an urge to watch as Florence woke up, sliding carefully from the bed to throw her robe on and step out onto the private terrace that overlooked the river. She breathed in the scents of Italy's famous Tuscany jewel, thrilling to its historic beauty, and sighed with delight. It was, in a word, perfect.

Tony had always been an early riser. He didn't believe in wasting too much time lounging in bed when one could be putting their time to better use. Of course, that also depending on what one was doing while they were lounging in bed and who they were lounging with. The last few days had been a whirlwind of activity as friends and family came together to witness the long-overdue and much-anticipated wedding of Anthony and Anastasia. The last few days had simply flown by, but at last the newlyweds had a chance to relax and take it all in, and enjoy the honeymoon that had been planned for them in Tony's beloved Italy. There was no other place like it on Earth or on Rhy'Din. You could have your beach honeymoon with sand-flies and sunburn and bottomless margaritas. There was no more romantic place for a honeymoon than Italy. As far as Tony was concerned, it was heaven on Earth and there was no one he'd rather share it with than his Anya. Despite being an early riser, after all the excitement of the last few days, he was slow to waken, savoring the lazy morning and the luxury of their suite.

Though it was the middle of winter in Florence, it was warm - warm enough that Anya didn't feel the chill so much as she leaned against the railings to look down at the river and the city rising from it. Though she had lived in Europe most of her life, she had never been to Italy, and it had been the one place she most wanted to visit since the first day Tony had danced into her life. It seemed fitting that her first experience of the country he loved so much should be on the first day she could legitimately call herself Mrs. De Luca.

It wasn't so much the first light of morning that finally stirred the bridegroom to waking, but the sounds of his beloved Italy coming to life in the streets below their suite. It was a sound unique to Italy. Not even the hustle and bustle of Manhattan came close. There was just something about it that was different from any place else. It might have been the language that initially caught one's ear. There were no voices shouting, no car horns blaring, no hurry to start the day. There was a slower pace here, where people didn't rush from one thing to the next, but savored each moment, like it was their last. It was that slow awakening of the city that finally stirred Tony to wakefulness, eyes sliding open to find the silhouetted figure of his wife on the terrace taking in the view as the city slowly awakened.

Oblivious to the stirrings of her husband in the room behind her, Anya was captivated by the city itself, drinking in the skyline she had seen in movies and pictures all her life. Bits and pieces of history lessons from school came back to her - that this was where the Medici family had grown so influential, this was where the renaissance had truly taken root. And though the world had moved on, very little of that modernization had infiltrated the view presented to her. If she ignored the cars on the street below, she could almost believe herself transported in time, already falling in love with Florence.

There was nothing like it in the States, and though Tony understood that his mother had come to New York because of his father, Italy would always feel like home. He had been very young when his father had made the decision to move his family to America, and though he barely remembered it, part of his heart had never left.

Tony closed his eyes for a moment as the city started to waken around them, imagining the streets below and the river that flowed nearby, surrounded as it all was by the architecture that was unique to Florence. No, he thought to himself with a smile. One could never mistake the sounds of this city for New York. After a moment, he slid from sheets and donned a matching robe that had been left for him the previous night. The hotel had thought of everything, and he knew all he had to do was place one quick phone call to the concierge, and all their wants and needs would be quickly and thoroughly satisfied. It was a chilly morning, but not nearly as cold as New York or Rhy'Din in January. No, February, he corrected himself. Already February. With a ballet scheduled for March and the gala coming in May, he would have to get straight to work upon his return, but for now, Rhy'Din and the Shanachie were a long way away.

He came up behind her silently, wrapping an arm around her slender waist, his lips touching the back of her neck. She was as slender as a reed and as graceful as a swan, perfect in every way. "Buongiorno, mia cara. Did you sleep well?"

She jumped just a little, startled out of her daydream by the present reality of her gorgeous husband wrapping her up in his arms. Smiling, Anya lifted her gaze from the city to look up at Tony, nuzzling affectionately to him as her fingers curled into his hair. "I slept very well, lyubimaya," she promised him, her voice low in the morning hum. "I did not want to wake you, you looked so peaceful. Were your dreams sweet?"

"Dreamless and peaceful," he replied, frowning a little at having startled her. It was not so long ago that she had been kidnapped by thugs and testified against them in court, and though they rarely, if ever, discussed it, he knew she had been terrified by the experience. His slid his other arm around her so that his arms circled her waist, almost like when they danced, his face close to hers, nearly cheek to cheek as they both looked out on the awakening city. "It's a lovely morning," he told her quietly.

Wrapped in Tony's embrace, it didn't occur to Anya that her jump might have sent his mind back to a single terrifying experience not so very long ago. She knew her father had set some things in motion to deal with those who had not been brought to justice because of it, but she had no idea how to tell Tony that, and if she was very honest, she didn't want to. Leaning back into his arms, she sighed contentedly, gently rubbing her cheek to his. "It is a beautiful city," she agreed with him, just as quietly. "Thank you for bringing me here."

He grinned as she patted his rear for the third time with a megawatt smile that was as photogenic as the rest of him. "Mamma says we are going to make beautiful babies," he casually remarked as he started toward the telephone to order their first meal of the day. Though they were in no hurry to start a family, Rosita De Luca, apparently, was in a hurry to have more grandchildren. He picked up the phone and dialed the number for room service, waiting a moment for someone to answer before ordering an typical Italian breakfast be brought to their room, all spoken in perfect Italian.

Anya simply laughed at this observation, oft-repeated, from Rosita. She was quite attached to her mother-in-law, who had made every effort to make her feel welcome and loved in the De Luca family long before there had been any talk of marriage at all. Sprawled comfortably in the bed, she listened as Tony placed his order, enjoying how smooth his flawless Italian sounded. "That is a very sexy thing to be able to do, you know," she commented as he hung up, brushing her hair back out of her eyes once again. "I love my country, but Russian is not a very attractive language. It is almost as bad as English."

"Italian is the language of love," he replied in complete agreement, though he suspected the French and possibly Spanish might have something to say about that. "Would you like me to teach you some?" he asked, as he hung up the phone and turned to join her on the bed.

She nodded, her face lit with her familiar smile as he rejoined her. "I do not know how good I will be at it," she warned him, with good reason. Her own accent was instantly recognizable, after all.

"I can teach you Italian and you can teach me Russian," he suggested, knowing it would be a challenge for both of them, but language was not really what interested him. He only wanted to tease her a little and see if he could teach her to say naughty things in Italian without knowing what she was saying.

"Ah, and then I will be able to make your mother cry by speaking to her in Italian!" Anya giggled, fairly sure this wasn't going to be a run of the mill lesson and wickedly interested to see if Tony was going to react to that one.

He smirked, knowing his mother would have a cow, literally, if she heard anything of the things he was thinking of teaching Anya come out of her mouth in front of his mother. "In that case, you had better learn how to say 'Mi scuso, Mamma,' before you learn anything else."

"Mi skoozo, Mamma," she repeated cheerfully, knowing it wasn't exactly right, but pretty sure Rosita would be able to understand her if she used it. "Like that?" She rolled onto her front to poke him fondly. "You would not be planning on teaching me to say something rude to your mother, would you?"

He smiled at her pronunciation, which was good enough for now, feigning a look of shock when she questioned his motives. "No! Of course not. Why would I do that?" He cleared his throat so that he could enunciate as clearly as possible, speaking slowly so she could take in each word. "Now, repeat after me....Tony " migliore..."

Her eyes narrowed as he offered up another phrase for her to begin with, recognizing his name but nothing else. Smiling, she propped her head up on her hand, concentrating on repeating what he said as accurately as she could. "Tony, eh migliora ..."

"Buono, buono!" he praised her before continuing, lifting a hand as if he was conducting a band, as he continued very slowly. "...amante del mondo." Which all together in Italian simply meant, "Tony is the world's best lover." Probably something Rosita De Luca would rather not know.

"....amanty del mondo," she finished, unable to keep from laughing at his praise. She had a feeling this probably wasn't something she should say to anyone outside this room, but that didn't make it any less fun to try. "Tony eh migliora amanty del mondo."

"Buono, ancora....again," he prompted, wanting her to repeat it again until it came off her lips as easily as her native Russian. Unfortunately for them both, she was still practicing when a knock came at the door to signal the arrival of breakfast. He slipped off the bed to answer the door, adjusting his bathrobe as he padded barefoot across the suite to the door.

Grinning, Anya decided to test the phrase he'd just taught her as he advanced across the suite to open the door. Just as Tony made eye contact with the waiter on the other side, she opened her mouth and announced with aboslute clarity, "Tony " migliore amante del mondo! Buono, buono, ancora!"

The waiter blinked, and coughed suddenly, attempting without much success to hide his grin as he presented Tony with the silver service trolley he had brought with him.

Tony grinned and flushed a little when he heard his wife unknowingly declare him the world's best lover to the waiter at the door. He shrugged a shoulder in apology and muttered quietly, "Scuse, mia moglie non ? molto discreta con la sua lode," which simply meant that his wife was not very discreet with her praise.

The waiter chuckled as he shook his head, dismissing the apology. "Complimenti, signore. L'amore va gridato circa." The congratulations was a given, but allowing that love was something to be shouted about might have been going a little far. He pushed the trolley into the room, stepping smartly back out without even glancing at the woman giggling in the bed.

Tony couldn't have agreed more. He was in love and wanted everyone to know it, though he had not expected Anya to innocently pronounce it in time for the waiter to overhear. Tony stepped out of the way so that the waiter could wheel the trolley into the room, muttering again as he realized he almost forget the tip. "Un momento!" he told the man, long strides taking him bedside again so he could fish a few bills out of his wallet for a tip.

"My tongue doesn't seem to like it any more than yours does Italian," he pointed out, as he offered her a taste of his own pastry, which was filled with chocolate and topped with powdered sugar. He wasn't admitting defeat exactly, in so many words.

Vaguely indignant, her laughter was cut short by the mouthful he offered her, her shoulder bumping his in mild retribution as she chewed and swallowed. "I did not do so very badly, did I?" she asked through her smile, licking her fingers clean to take up her cup once more. Her head found a place to rest on his shoulder as she looked out through the window. Florence was awake now, and beneath the morning sunlight, it shone. "Perhaps we could see some sights today," she murmured thoughtfully, though there was still that one consideration to take care of. "The Uffizi Gallery, maybe?"

"Mmm," he murmured, his gaze admiring a different view, that of his lovely wife. "Maybe later," he replied, making no promises. First things first, and though they had made love plenty of times before, they had never made love in Florence and never as newlyweds. He slipped out from beneath her shoulder to pick up the tray and move it to the table beside them. "First things first," he continued, laying her back against the pillows, one hand sliding up against her thigh. "Unless you'd rather sight-see first," he murmured, as his lips grazed her neck.

Bereft of her coffee cup as he took charge once again, Anya giggled warmly as he laid her back, curling her arms about his neck as his hands began to wander. Sated of her basic hunger, there was another making itself known once again, one born of passion and desire and love that was eager for a little satisfaction of its own. "It can wait," she promised him, her voice low and husky, lips brushing his temple as he traced her throat with kisses. "I would like to be driven wild by my husband a little first."

She didn't need to ask him twice. He pulled the sash of her robe loose and and slid his hand inside, while his lips lingered against her neck, leaving behind a trail of feathery light kisses, intending to take his time with her. They had four years of lost time to make up for, and while he couldn't make up for it all in one day, he could remind her what she'd been missing. This was another kind of dance, each step slow and seductive and deliberate, slowly lighting the fire inside her with every touch, every kiss, every caress.

She couldn't recall a time when they had ever had the luxury of being able to savor each and every moment together, no matter how long it took. There were always other things to do, or the pressing weariness of a long day to abate. And yet here and now, despite the sense of impatience, the eager need to have and hold and never let go, Anya was on fire as Tony took his time with her, patient only so long as he allowed her to take her time with him. They knew one another intimately, inside and out, and with every touch, every kiss, every caress, that knowledge grew deeper in understanding. Until a phone rang close by, the tinny ringtone emanating from Tony's side of the bed.

Tony was busy kissing his wife when the phone rang, covering her body in a shower of soft kisses from head to toe, agonizingly slow kisses as he worked his way down her body, parting her robe and sliding his hand beneath her camisole to tease her flesh with a firm but gentle touch. He ignored the incessant ringing, letting it go to voicemail, but when it became obvious that whoever was on the other end of the line wasn't going to give up that easily, he finally rolled away from her with an annoyed growl to retrieve the phone with the intention of scolding whoever was on the other end of the line. Didn't they know they were on their honeymoon' Whoever it was, it could wait.

That is, until he saw that it was his mother calling. "Sh*t," he muttered, very uncharacteristically. She might as well have tossed a bucket of cold water on him at that point. He tapped the phone and held it up to his ear, "Yes, Mamma?" This had better be important.

"Tony!" Rosita's excited squeal was so loud, even Anya heard her with absolute clarity, dismissing her initial annoyance as she sat up to curl her arms around her husband's waist and listen in. "Mia piccolo bambino, Mataya is in labor!"

It took a moment for the news to sink in. It wasn't that he was slow by any means, but his mind had been distracted elsewhere, and he was slow to wrap his head around his mother's news. "What do you mean she's in labor" Now" Today' We just saw her yesterday!" He didn't mind that Mataya might have a baby the day after his wedding, but he had just seen her the day before, and she'd seemed perfectly fine. Of course, he knew that babies didn't always choose the most convenient time to be born, but at least, this one had held off until after the wedding.

"She was so determined to make it a good day for you both, she must have relaxed when she got home for the first time in weeks," Rosita told him, unaware that as she spoke, his wife was nestled close to his back, painting his neck and shoulder with languid kisses. "She is not due for another week. If the labor goes on too long, she will have to have help. But I wanted you to know that you will be an uncle very soon, bambino. Something else to celebrate on your honeymoon."

"Mmm," Tony replied, trying to focus on his mother's news and not on the kisses his wife was applying to his neck and shoulders. He was having a hard time thinking of his sister when his wife was busy seducing and relaxing him.

"I will call you when the baby is born," his mother continued, oblivious to the distractions on the other end of the phone and apparently equally oblivious to the fact that Tony really wasn't alone. "How are you enjoying your honeymoon, mia piccolo' How is Anya?"

Anya's lips curved into a grin as she brushed kisses over Tony's skin, gently peeling off his robe as his mother attempted to extend the conversation.

"Anya is fine," Tony replied, somewhat distractedly, not really wanting to tell his mother that this wasn't the best time for a phone call, though he was certainly happy to hear that Mataya was doing well and that he'd have a new niece or nephew sometime soon, as if his marriage wasn't enough to celebrate. He was happy for his sister, but at the moment, he had other things on his mind. "We were, uh, just going on our way out," he lied, knowing she'd more than likely see right through him. "Give 'Taya our love and let us know when the baby is born," he told her, hoping she would get the hint.

"Ah. I will call later, then," Rosita conceded, though the laughter in her voice probably did not help matters. "Be well, bambino. Ciao."

"A walk around the city then?" he asked, looking for confirmation. It didn't really matter to him much what they did, so long as they did it together, but they hadn't come all this way just to lounge in bed, as tempting as it was. "Dinner on the roof or the veranda?" he asked, as he drew his fingers through her hair, pushing it gently away from her face and over a shoulder only to watch it tumble forward again.

"Mmm..." She considered the options for a moment before smiling as he stroked her hair back from her face. "On the roof," she decided sweetly. "I would like to dress up for you and show you off. It won't be long before the press realize we are in Italy. We should make the most of it while we can."

It was true, and they were more likely to be recognized here than in the States or even Rhy'Din, where only those who followed the ballet would recognize them. "By the time they realize we're here, we'll be on to the next city," he reminded her, hoping they'd be able to elude the press, at least enough that he'd be able to show her the country of his birth without being stalked and pestered.

"Good," she smiled, leaning down to kiss him once again, slow and tender and infinitely tempting. Drawing back, she traced her fingertips down the bridge of his nose, laying her fingers softly over his lips for a long moment. "You are by far the sexiest man I have ever known," his besotted wife informed him with a happy sigh. "But ..." She rolled away, sliding from the bed to glance over her shoulder at him with a wink. "I can't be seen in Florence all sweaty."

He caught her hand as she rolled away from him, before she could make her escape, if only for the shower. "Anya," he said, in a tone far too serious for her teasing, touched by her compliment and already missing her closeness. "You know I love you," he told her, stating the obvious, just needing her to know for some reason, though he wasn't sure why.

Her finger entwined with his as she turned back to him, her expression impossibly soft as she smiled for him. "I know," she promised. "Just as you know that I love you. You are in my heart, Tony, always."

"And you are in mine," he replied, mirroring her soft smile with one of his own. He didn't ask if she wanted company in the shower. If she did, she would say so, and they both knew a shared shower would only further delay their exploration of the city, as pleasant as that prospect seemed. Too much of a good thing might make something special ordinary, though it was doubtful either of them would ever become so complacent that their lovemaking would ever become boring. His fingers lingered against hers a moment longer before finally letting her go.

She bent to kiss him swiftly before he let her go, gently nipping the end of his nose in the process. "Join me?" It was a gentle request, not one she expected an affirmative reply to. They were both in the habit of being a little possessive over their time beneath the hot water, but sometimes it was nice to break that rule. Nothing needed to happen; she just wasn't quite ready to give up the intimacy of their closeness just yet.

"Are you sure?" he asked, knowing how possessive she was of the hot water, though there was no worry of them running out of hot water here. A small smile appeared on his face, as equally amused as it was touched by her request. He was feeling as reluctant to give up that closeness as she was, it seemed. "I promise not to step on your toes this time." Odd for a man who was known for his gracefulness on stage and for his reputation for never having dropped a partner that he had once upon a time stepped on her toes in the shower of all places.

"I am prepared to share, just this once," she teased him in return, giving his hand a gentle tug. "I have no aching muscles that need to be soothed today ....nor will I for at least two weeks." Or, in other words, he was welcome to step on her toes in the shower so long as she hadn't been at work all day.

He moved to his feet as she tugged at his hand, hoping to remain close for the rest of the day, even once they were in public. Hand in hand, they'd walk the streets of Florence, whispering sweet nothings that were only meant for the other. But first, a long, languorous shower, warm and soothing against their muscles, sore or otherwise.

With expert timing, Tony's phone rang again as they headed for the shower. Anya stopped in her tracks and immediately started giggling, turning back to face to him with a grin. "I will lay money on that being your mama again," she informed him, genuinely amused by the occurrence. "Perhaps Mataya was only pretending to be in labor."

He sighed, torn between the shower with his wife or the phone with his mother, but in the end, they both knew the phone would win because if it didn't, they'd never hear the end of it. "I'll try to be quick," he promised, leaning close to press a kiss against her lips, which only re-ignited the flame between them. Maybe it was better if they showered alone after all, or they'd never leave the hotel.

Lingering in the kiss, his wife stayed close for a long moment, possessively caressing his rear end once more before she stepped away. "Tell her she won't ever get a grand-baby from you if she keeps interrupting," she suggested impishly, blowing him a kiss as she backed toward the bathroom.

"Good point, but she knows we're not trying yet," he pointed out, grumbling a little to himself as he backtracked to the bed to find his phone. Sure enough, it was Rosita's number that was buzzing his phone yet again, and only an hour or so since the last phone call. He sighed, drawing a long breath to gather his patience before answering the phone, "Yes, Mamma" Am I an uncle yet?"

"She is four centimeters dilated," Rosita reported enthusiastically, once again oblivious to the fact that this was the second call in as many hours to her son while he was on his honeymoon. No wonder Max hadn't called her until this morning with the news that 'Taya was in labor to begin with. "Are you having a good time?"

"Mamma," Tony started, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Anya was out of earshot. "You can't keep calling like this. We're on our honeymoon," Tony said, with an emphasis on the honeymoon, hoping she'd get the message without offending her.