Ivan would have liked to have pretended that he was ready and capable of dealing with anything his uncle threw at him, however false that is. He's spent years avoiding conversations with his mother about his womanizing ways, surely he can duck out of this conversation as quickly as he's done those. Right, he's got a goal in mind: get out of this as quickly as possible and with as little flair as possible.

The Byerly? confirms his suspicions on the purpose of his visit here, but it makes him mentally stumble. More than he already is. He didn't expect his uncle to open with that. Maybe something along the lines of so this is why you haven't gotten married, which was the heavy implication behind his mother's limited commentary. What does he do with that?

"It's not my fault!" He blurts out, completely on reflex. No, Ivan reflects, he's pretty sure a continued relationship with Byerly Vorrutyer is at least 50% his fault. "Not at first," is the amendment, as he sees his chances of being able to duck out of this dwindle. Casting another longing eye at the pile of Ma Kosti pastries and the wine and wishing to be desperately and utterly anywhere else, Ivan finally focuses on his uncle's face. "But yes, Byerly Vorrutyer."