Even Tesla would have to admit that there's a lightness in not needing to hide things. Which isn't to say that he hasn't, sometimes, but there's a truth to the devil-may-care attitude he often adopts too. If people think that you're giving them the truth (and he usually is, by one definition or another) then they don't care nearly as much for what you aren't saying. Of course, Helen always has had a way of seeing through to the heart of him, but he's never really minded that, entirely.

(Which doesn't keep him from sometimes being less than forthcoming, but far be it for him to stop now, when they've long since settled into into a familiar sort of pattern.)

"Why, Helen," he begins, with mock reproach that is almost entirely overshadowed by the grin on his face, "you wound me."

And yes, she has a right to be concerned about what else he might come up with, conversationally speaking, but that doesn't mean he's actually going to go so far as to admit. Instead, he turns his attention to the rest of what she mentions, and by the flicker of amusement in his eyes when she mentions Italy it's entirely likely that he has figured out her musical secret, although he makes no mention of it, past that brief look in his eye.

"I could," he answers instead. "But I'd rather let this particular trip stand on its own merits."

Reminiscing is all well and good, but the times they've both taken a genuine vacation are few and far between and given the newness to the way their relationship has shifted over the past few weeks he'd much rather pay attention to what is instead of what has been.