Luther is still making the mockery of a statue, not quite looking at her, as he affects recognition and questions with that same strange tone. A little too clipped and too fast. Not enough that she thinks anyone else standing next to them would notice. But it hooks somewhere in the back of her mind—the shift to this from even seconds ago.

(She was always good at reading him once upon a time, but two years of learning to pay attention to everything about her own voice, about the voices of the people she's playing off on any stage or set, or those she goes to watch and learn from while they are performing: it's heightened that even more.)

But even there, she feels a little stymied by the inability to tell if the regimental soldiering of the questions is that he wants to know or doesn't care at all. That pepper of too-serious questions that makes her look up at him amused, smile lightly crooked, as she shakes the arm of his her fingers are still folded in the elbow. "Yes. But not that they know that."

"That man is a terror off-camera --" Though her tone makes it clear, the use of that word is nothing like the one they might have used only a few years ago—terror and horror and destruction. So much as something to be settled with. "--with an entourage of three almost at all times. I'm pretty sure he still has his personal facialist coming in to see to him daily between sets."

With practiced air of touching on something that is rather known around this world, but not the one she came from, she tugs him to follow her to the next exhibit piece, by that same hand on his elbow, even as she continues on. "But it's good press for keeping the show in conversations and publications, even if it is unconfirmed, when the tabloids pick up shots of us out rehearsing or getting coffee. It ends up being beneficial for both of us."