[In a way, he's pleased to see that this question has caught her off-guard, because it means that whatever answer she gives is one that she hasn't prepared in advance and fine-tuned into what she thinks he might want to hear. It's not that he's doubted her reliability on the previous things she's answered for him; far from it, he's generally convinced that she's been genuine in her remarks. But this question is too important, too significant, to leave even a shadow of a doubt as to its veracity, and so he'd provoked it in the best way he knew how.

And in another way, he now finds himself vaguely unsettled, because provoking her has also meant that he's hurt her, and while he doesn't regret doing it, he does regret that it caused her pain in the process. It's a fine distinction, but one he appreciates.]

Hopelessly romantic isn't something I do well. If you were hoping I'd lay eyes on you and fall desperately in love with you, I truly regret to admit that I haven't. You are undeniably beautiful, and everything I've seen of you up until this point has given me reason to believe that you have a wide array of qualities that are not only likeable, but at times even enchanting. But I refuse to insult you by promising you something that I know full well isn't true — particularly something as important as a commitment of my heart in exchange for yours.

[He pauses, this time a little awkwardly himself.]

I'm a difficult person to develop affections for. I can't promise to change for you. But I also have no intention of asking you to change for me.