The change in her demeanor was slight, but he'd read more furtive sorts. Besides, he'd expected it.
"As far as I'm aware, I am the only one who knows," he assured her, "and I have neither reason nor desire to share." Then he coughed a bit. High society had always discussed such things as Blythe's "situation" in malicious whispers, and Rufus had never cared enough to lean in and listen. His thoughts on the matter were simple: as the ShinRa heir, he'd always been cautious to the point of excess, since, by his own example, an heir was the very last thing he needed, followed closely by a wife. Resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair, Rufus managed a noncommittal shrug. "I suppose it is... usual. I've never felt the dictates of culture were a good enough reason, personally, but, ah," realizing it was perhaps time to cut his losses, he plucked at his thoughts for something appropriately innocuous to say. "I hope you can both be happy." Lame. His wit was fired.
Climbing the steps behind her, he was thankful, if not pleased, when her words offered him a distraction. May I, now? Fighting down the instinct to bristle, he shook his head at himself. It was her right to allow or deny him a seat within the boundaries of her home, and that she should choose to allow it should be more than enough to sate his ego. He murmured his thanks and pondered the benefits of the relatively concealed bench against the easy mobility of the steps before settling uneasily onto the bench careful not to set it swinging.
Immediately he realized he had no idea what to discuss. He was no stranger to sitting down to speak with the enemy, but on those occasions he'd always had a plan. What was he doing, now? What did one say in a situation such as this? Perhaps it would be better to let her decide.