Cesare nibbles a fingernail, then uses it to rake down his cheek, probing. No five-o'clock-shadow. Good. Then he looks at Iago and, manoeuvering around another fiery blush, says, "Why thank you." Prettily. The sort of prettily that had got him into trouble more than once. "I wouldn't know whether Madonna finds it offensive. She hasn't seen it yet." He'd be wax in her hands, that's the problem.
"What was it like for you, if I may be so bold to ask?"