"Vy russkiy?" he asks immediately, the Texan drawl coming through even thicker in Russian than in English. "I'd wondered a little, hearing that last name of yours when I really learned it, but you never know where people are from these days." He'd taught himself Russian a little later, once he'd moved onto the Russian philosophers sometime in the Seventies. Learning languages was commonplace in the family, but Jasper had always focused on the languages most prominent in philosophy: German, French, Italian, Greek, Latin, Russian.

She isn't making too great an effort to hide what she's feeling from him now. She's opened up, or relaxed herself, and it's easy to look beyond the surface layers. It's been a challenge to reveal that detail, he thinks, it's a vulnerability she's handed him. "Natalia," he says thoughtfully, experimentally, like he's tasting the name. "That actually kinda suits you. Maybe it reminds you of where you're from though." He wouldn't want to start using it if she didn't want it to be used. That would be ungentlemanly.