Imported Love

Chapter Sixteen

It was perfect.

“Good morning, Eri,” Clara sang as she burst into the room, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin.

“Haven’t you ever heard of knocking Clara?” Ethan demanded, leaning up on his elbow.

Clara shrieked and whirled around, she covered her eyes with her hands. “You have fifteen seconds to get dressed.”

“I’m not naked,” Ethan laughed, sitting up. I buried my head under my pillow in embarrassment. I hated how comfortably the two of them talked about such private things.

Clara peeked out from between her fingers. “So you two do it dressed?”

“Clara!” I screeched, my voice muffled by the feathered pillow.

“She was raised in a barn, don’t pay any attention to her.” Ethan cooed, pulling the pillow away from me.

“A barn? That’s rich coming from you. You’d think that you’d be the one talking like that, your mother being what she was and all.” Clara snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

Ethan’s chest constricted against my back. I looked between the two of them in confusion. Clara had one of those looks on her face again, like she couldn’t believe she just said what she’d said. Ethan looked—well Ethan looked enraged.

“Ethan I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” Clara whimpered.

“Save it, Clara.” Ethan muttered. He threw back the blankets and climbed out of the bed. I reached for his hand, but he pulled away.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Clara insisted, wringing her hands.

“When do you ever think, Clara?” Ethan inquired cruelly. Clara’s face crumbled.

“Ethan, that wasn’t necessary.” I said, getting out of bed and putting my arm around Clara.

Ethan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sat down on the bed, heavily. “I apologize, Clara.”

“Don’t, I deserved it.” Clara assured him, shrugging my arm off. She perched herself on the vanity stool.

I stood in the middle of the room, looking between the both of them. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Ethan pushed his fingers through his hair. “Remember that diary you found?”

I nodded. “The one your mother wrote, what about it?”

“While you were sick I was reading it, and I found that a few of the pages were torn out. I searched the desk, but they weren’t there. It took me a week to find them. They were in the green house, hidden behind a stack of pots.