Counting Down with You(81)

Even the times when Ace has crossed my personal boundaries, he’s always been willing to listen and apologize. He learns from his mistakes and doesn’t make them again. I can’t put into words how important that is to me.

“Then just relax,” Nandini says, her voice soothing as she gathers puzzle pieces again. It helps my nerves only slightly. “So what are you going to wear?”

“Oh God, don’t remind me.” I fall backward onto my bed. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. The fear of getting caught and the fear of messing up are terrifying, and both have made a home inside of me. “I want to die. I’m going to jump off my balcony. This is the end.”

“Karina,” Cora says softly on the other end. For a moment, I feel pathetic at how worked up I must sound just because I’m going on a date. It’s not like Ace asked for my hand in marriage.

“Yeah, okay. Will you guys help me choose?”

Nandini smiles. “Always.”

When I arrive at Ace’s house, my jaw drops. He sent his driver—apparently he really is that rich—to pick me up and bring me to his house, and now I’m staring at a rose-petal path.

I text Ace in confusion, and his only reply is, follow the roses  

The heart results in a strange swoop in my stomach. I follow the petals along a stone path, leading to a greenhouse. Ace is waiting for me inside with a candlelit dinner and a stupid grin on his face that I feel the strange urge to kiss.

As I step closer, I realize they’re lavender-scented candles. My lips turn up of their own accord.

“What’s this?” I ask, wiping my sweaty palms against my skirt.

Nandini and Cora helped me pick out an outfit, a deep blue blouse interwoven with silver designs of flora and a high-waisted black skirt that I wore over black tights. More importantly, they helped me pick out jewelry which I borrowed from my mom’s collection. Maybe wearing traditional Bangladeshi jewelry for a first date is a little over the top, but I think it’s fitting.

Ace has abandoned his leather jacket for a white button-down shirt and black slacks paired with dark loafers. I try not to feel giddy at the thought of him dressing up for our date.

“Well, this is filet mignon in mushroom sauce with a side of parmesan risotto. It’s halal, too.” He looks down, fiddling with his rings. “I might have asked my mom for help over Skype.”

I can’t help but awwww. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Ace says. There’s a hint of pink to his cheeks that causes a pang in my chest. “She loves cooking, so she was happy to help.”

He pulls out my chair and gestures for me to sit down. “Bone apple teeth, madame.”

I burst into laughter. “Bone apple teeth? You’re so weird.”

Ace shrugs. “You like it.”

“Strangely enough, I do,” I say, lowering my gaze to my plate. The food smells delicious. It’s fancier than anything I’ve ever eaten before. “Bone apple teeth, sir.”

He asks about my ride here as we start our meal and I can’t help poking fun at the fact his family has a driver. He takes it gracefully, which is more than I expected. I didn’t think he’d throw a fit or anything, but seeing him laugh it off is a pleasant surprise.

As I’m spreading my napkin across my lap, Ace taps my wrist. I look up to see him watching me, eyes bright. “You’re the loveliest flower in this entire garden.”

Laughter spills from my lips. “Is that right? Aren’t you just the smooth talker?”

Ace’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “The smoothest.”

Without thinking about it, I lean forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. “You’ve wooed me,” I tease.

He catches my wrist and holds me there, suspended. “Wooed? I’ve wooed you?”

I pout at him halfheartedly. “I was trying to be nice and this is what I get—”

“No, no, I like it,” he says, playing with the cuff of my sleeve. “That’s going to be my job from now on. To always woo you. Expect to be wooed frequently and as often as possible.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I say affectionately, pulling back my wrist. “I think you overestimate your prowess.”

“Don’t use SAT words,” Ace says, nudging me underneath the table with his foot.

I slant him a look. “Prowess isn’t an SAT word.”

“It is,” he insists. “I saw it in a workbook the other day.”

I falter. Last I heard, Ace wasn’t taking the SATs. “Why were you practicing?”

Ace falls silent, and his jaw tenses. I reach over to gently touch his hand.

He looks down at our fingers and exhales. “I’ve been thinking a lot...and I don’t want to throw away my future.”

My eyes widen. “So, you’re going to take the SATs? You’re going to apply to NYU?”

“Yeah,” he says, biting his bottom lip. “Yeah, I think I am. I was kind of...the thought was lingering in my head, you know? When I started failing English, I had a moment of panic where I realized there’s no way I was going to get into college if I failed a class, especially not a school like NYU.”

“That’s why you decided to get a tutor,” I say, the pieces clicking together.