Elena laughed once, a bright broken sound. "So she wasn't a secret you kept from her. She was a secret you kept from me. Efficient."
"Elena—"
"Names," she said. "You don't get to use mine like a rope right now."
He nodded. His eyes were red. She hated that she still noticed the architecture of his face, the way grief arranged itself along the same bones she had kissed.
"The wedding," she said. "We have a date in June. We have a deposit on a venue. We have my mother looking at dress shops. We have your mother asking about cake flavors in group texts that include me. What exactly was your plan for the station goodbye? End it with Claire, marry me, and hope the two truths never met on a platform?"
"I was ending it," he said. "That part was true. I was going to end it and then tell you — not everything, I was a coward about everything — but tell you that I had been emotionally involved with someone from my past and that it was over. I thought if I cleaned it up first, the confession would be... survivable."