the law of attraction | reus + lewandowski

FIFTEEN

May, 1944

Magdalena clutched her small handbag as she made her way to Marco's hotel, nervously walking down the street and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible to the patrolling officers. But it was hard when she was dressed so strikingly, clad in white heels and a creme colored silk blouse which was carefully tucked into a red skirt. Of course, the blouse didn't belong to Magdalena—it was Veronika's, for there was no way she could afford a silk shirt on her own. Magda's blonde hair was down—this was no mistake, seeing as she needed to be as inconspicuous as possible—and she had adorned her blue eyes with mascara, her warm cheeks with a radiant rouge.

Magda passed by two officers who whistled at her from behind, forcing her to resist the urge to run out of their sight. She felt disgusted by their salacious whistles, but reminded herself that she was going to meet Marco, a man who'd once been in their exact position. She'd been so lost in the midst of her thoughts that she didn't pay attention as she rounded a corner, bumping into an officer before dropping her bag and gasping.

Quickly, Magdalena kneeled down to grab her bag and to shovel in the items that'd fallen out—her lipstick, her wallet, and, more importantly, a folded letter from her family. Idiot, she thought, praying the officer wouldn't notice it. I knew I should have left it at home. "I'm sorry," She blurted, bowing her head in deference.

The officer stared at her before raising an eyebrow. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

Magdalena grew fearful as his eyes examined hers, scrutinizing her appearance in order to figure out if he knew who she was. They'd briefly crossed paths at Marco's birthday party that happened a year ago—she'd served him a glass of wine. Quietly, she prayed that he wouldn't recognize her—as far Marco and his companions were concerned, Magdalena was supposed to be dead. As calm as she could, she shook her head. "Sir, I—"

"Let me see your papers," responded the officer, firmly.

Magda nodded and dug her hand in her purse before carefully pulling out her identification papers, praying that the letter didn't unveil itself as well. As she handed the officer the forged documents, she watched as his eyes examined those as well. "Amelia Lewandowska," he stated, eyebrows risen. "I recognize the name. Lewandowski."

She nodded, forcing a smile on her lips. "Yes, he's...he's my brother," She lied. To say she was Roberts wife wouldn't be a proper excuse. If the officer knew who Robert was, he certainly knew who Veronika was as well.

The officer said nothing, instead continued to examine Magdalena's papers. "I've met Robert Lewandowski," he finally stated. "He has brown hair. Dark, dark hair." The officer looked up at me again. "Your hair is bright and blonde. How can that be, if the two of you come from the same parents?"

Magdalena opened her mouth, then closed it. "With respect, sir..." She began to stall time, as Robert had taught her to do in a situation like this—until she could find a plausible excuse. The last resort was flirtation and distraction. But she was still racking her mind for an excuse to give the officer, as she found it difficult to flirt with someone who disgusted her. "I—"

"What's going on here?" Like music to her ears, Magdalena heard the sound of Marco's voice. She gazed in his direction and realized that she had been stopped right outside of his hotel. She'd been late to meet Marco because of the officer's questioning, presumably causing him to look out his window to check if she was nearby—and there she was.

Magdalena let out a breath of relief as the officer did a quick and nauseating Sieg Heil solute. The officer then stared at Marco, whose suit indicated that he was of a much higher ranking. "Nothing, sir. Just a routine questioning." He handed Magdalena her papers, shoving them in her hands. "Be careful next time," he stated, sharply, before turning and walking away.