Tony responded with his own murmured "Hey," dropping his hand to tuck, as the other did, into his pocket, glancing away at the vase again for a beat, Adam's apple bobbing. He didn't really care about the room, he knew it was perfect; he had micromanaged every detail with input from four of the top designers in the city and two more he knew in France where most of the textiles were imported from. So when he looked back to her, Tony was studying her hair again, and he only said, "I told them it was for a princess," in an offhand mumble. He met her eyes then, the sparkle in his belated, but held when he finally returned her smile with a lopsided one of his own.
How else was this conversation supposed to start, anyway? He had given it too much time, thought about it too much, and now he knew his lines but jumbled his cues and forgot that there were other players on the stage. Not that that was anything new. He must have wanted it, though, otherwise he wouldn't have found himself in front of her room again.