Fleur's fingers grazed the polished wooden bar lightly, as though it were more of an accessory than a helping tool. Her knee rose smoothly and delicately to mingle casually with her chest, her weight supported by the supporting leg that balanced elegantly and effortlessly en pointe. Her eyes focused on a nondescript point on the wall opposite her, and the arm unattached to the barre stretched out to her side like a swan's neck. Finally, she inhaled slowly, causing her upturned chest to rise like a soft wave, and on the slow, silent exhale her raised leg straightened, locking her second knee in place, leaving the heel of her foot to whisper secrets of elegance and grace into her ear. As her body found its center and her fingers left the barre like doves taking off, she felt herself become accustomed to the pose and her unused muscles relax slightly. She began to feel lighter as some of the pressure on her standing leg dissolved, as though diluting through her small frame. The pressure lessened steadily until, suddenly, Fleur became aware that her foot was several inches from the polished wood floor.
Her light brows knitted together as her tranquil, concentrating face squirmed with annoyance. She whipped her head around, sending her entire torso twisting in the air, allowing her an unobstructed view of the doorway, her raised leg still barely an inch from her cheek. "Bill!" she exclaimed in a shrill, tense voice.
Hearing his name called in such a brisk, staccato manner broke Bill's concentration on his levitating spell, cutting the thread of magic short. Fleur's quick reflexes allowed her the grasp the barre with both hands to keep her from falling onto her lower leg. She grasped the arch of the raised foot in her hand and gently bent and lowered it.
Now fully grounded and untangled, Fleur turned to glower caustically at her husband, who was laughing gently, the scars on his cheeks wrinkling like drying laundry twisted in the wind. "What do you want?" Each word sounded like the crisp beating of a drum.
"I want you come upstairs with me," Bill said softly as he came forward into the makeshift dance studio and placed a hand on each of his beautiful wife's sides.
Fleur threw his hands away roughly. "No. Not until I lose all ze fat from the baby."
"Look at you, Fleur," Bill said as he placed his hands back on her slender waist, "my hands can almost circle your waist." It was true; his thumbs were barely a few inches from each other.
Fleur shook her head "Zat's because you are a 'uge, 'ulking man. Go see eef Victiore eez awake," she shooed him.
"No." Bill nuzzled his face into the crook of Fleur's neck, one of his hands resting on her lower back.
Fleur's body, hardened by her renewed passion for ballet, melted slightly in his arms. "All right. I'll give you 'af an hour. At most, forty-five minutes," she said sternly.