INTRO

The first rule of a well-designed costume was that no one should notice how much work had gone into making it. The second was that the person wearing it had to believe in the role.

That evening, I broke both.

I stood in front of a mirror in the dressing room of an elegant mansion on Gdańska Street in Łódź, struggling to fasten the last hook of my burgundy dress. The fabric fitted my waist exactly as I had intended, but the zipper at the back refused to cooperate, and I was beginning to regret choosing something quite so ambitious.

I was twenty-eight, owned a theatrical costume studio, had three overdue invoices to pay, and had a plan that allowed absolutely no room for romantic complications. Over the next six weeks, I intended to secure a costume-design contract for a new theatre production, get my finances under control, and finally stop accepting commissions simply because someone needed rescuing at the last minute.

Tonight's celebration was supposed to help me achieve that.

"Iga, if you don't come downstairs soon, my aunt will start thinking you've escaped through the window."

Paweł's voice came from the other side of the door.

"Your aunt has known me for five years. She should know I'd never climb out of a window wearing a dress I made myself."

"So should I worry when you're wearing jeans?"

"If I'm wearing jeans, you should be running after me."

I heard him laugh. A low, familiar sound, slightly roughened by an entire week of rehearsals. It was one of those sounds I could recognise even in a crowded theatre foyer. I had been friends with Paweł Sadowski long enough to know his worst habits, his favourite coffee, and his remarkable talent for appearing at precisely the moment I had stopped needing help.

He was thirty-three and made his living convincing people he was someone else. In private, he could be infuriatingly honest, especially when he asked questions I didn't want to answer.

"Do you need help?" he asked.

I looked at the stubborn zipper.

"Unfortunately."

The door opened cautiously.

Paweł stepped inside wearing a dark suit, the top button of his white shirt undone. His jacket was draped over one shoulder, and his hair looked as though he had combed it with his fingers instead of an actual comb. Knowing him, that was probably exactly what he had done.

He stopped two steps away.

"You look beautiful."

"That sounds suspicious."

"I can tell you that you look terrible if it would make you feel safer."

"Zip up my dress, Sadowski."

I turned my back to him.

In the mirror, I watched him lay his jacket on a chair. He stepped closer, but before touching the fabric, he asked, "May I?"

I nodded.

His fingers carefully swept my hair aside. He took his time, like someone accustomed to handling delicate theatrical costumes, where one careless movement could ruin a week's work. Cool air brushed my exposed skin. I caught the scent of his cologne, that familiar mixture of cedar and something warmer I had never quite managed to identify.

The zipper slid smoothly into place.

"Done."

I should have moved away immediately. Instead, I stood there for a moment, studying our reflections. His concentrated expression, my hands resting on the dressing table, and the unexpected ease of a situation that suddenly felt far too intimate.

"Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome."

He was the first to step back.

Applause erupted downstairs. Someone had begun a speech, and a moment later we heard his father's booming voice.

Paweł grimaced almost imperceptibly.

"Here we go."

"Your mother's sixtieth birthday? Yes, apparently it's been coming for a month."

"That's not what I mean."

I turned towards him.

I knew that expression. I had seen it before premieres, when a director changed an entire scene at the last minute and Paweł had to decide whether to protest or save the performance. But there was no stage here, no audience. Just a private family celebration he had invited me to attend as his friend.

At least, that was what I had believed.

"What have you done?" I asked.

"Before I answer, I'd like to emphasise that my intentions were good."

"That's the worst possible opening."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

"Mum is convinced I'm seeing someone."

I waited for him to continue.

"Congratulations. Who's the lucky woman?"

He said nothing.

I looked at him more closely.

"Paweł."

"I mentioned you to her."

"You mention me all the time. Most recently when I repaired your jacket before a premiere, I think."

"This time she might have interpreted the context a little differently."

My amusement gave way to disbelief.

"What context?"

"I said you were coming with me. That you're important to me. Mum asked whether we were finally together, and I..."

"And you?"

"I didn't say no."

I stared at him for several seconds.

"You're an actor. You memorise dozens of pages of dialogue for a living, but you couldn't manage one word?"

"I know."

"The word was no."

"Iga..."

"It's short. One syllable. Even you could have managed it."

He made no attempt to defend himself. That irritated me even more, because I would have preferred something to direct my anger at.

Footsteps sounded outside, followed by a woman calling Paweł's name.

"Is that your mother?" I whispered.

"Aunt Teresa."

"Wonderful. Perhaps she knows the correct answer to the question of whether we're a couple."

I grabbed my clutch and headed towards the door, but Paweł didn't stand in my way.

"You have every right to tell them the truth," he said. "I'm not going to ask you to lie."

I stopped with my hand on the door handle.

That one detail distinguished him from most of the men I had known. Even when he made a mistake, he didn't try to make me responsible for its consequences.

"Then why are you only telling me now?"

"Because I've just found out Mum has invited both of us to spend next weekend at the family house outside Łódź."

I turned slowly.

"Both of us?"

"Yes."

"As a couple?"

He nodded.

I gave a short, humourless laugh. Next week, I was due to present my costume proposal for a new theatrical production. I wanted that contract more than I cared to admit. Running my own studio meant freedom, but it also meant months when every paid invoice determined whether I could afford to hire help for the next project.

I had no intention of changing my plans because of Paweł's family misunderstanding.

"I'm not going," I announced.

"I understand."

He said it immediately. No bargaining, no charming smile of the kind he usually used to win people over.

Which made leaving considerably harder.

"Why did you let her believe it?" I asked more quietly.

Paweł glanced at the closed door.

"Because I've spent months hearing that I should finally settle down. And when I told her you were important to me, she stopped worrying for the first time in ages."

"You could have explained that friendship matters too."

"I could have."

We fell silent.

Then he took out his phone and showed me a message from his mother. On the screen was a photograph of a wooden house with a terrace overlooking a garden. Beneath it, she had written that she couldn't wait to get to know us "in this new chapter of your lives."

There was something painfully affectionate about it.

"She really believes it," I said.

"Yes."

"And when exactly were you planning to tell her the truth?"

"Today. Before she sees you."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Ambitious plan."

"I never said it was a good one."

Music drifted up from downstairs. The guests had begun singing "Sto lat," the traditional Polish birthday song, loudly and hopelessly out of tune, with the enthusiasm of people who had consumed enough champagne to stop caring about the melody.

I remembered how much Paweł hated disappointing his mother. Not because he was afraid of her. After her sister's death several years earlier, he had learned to treat every moment of family peace as something he had to protect. Sometimes so fiercely that he disappeared beneath everyone else's expectations.

"We'll go downstairs together," I decided. "We're not causing a scene at her birthday party. Afterwards, you'll explain everything yourself."

He smiled gratefully.

"All right."

"And don't mistake this for agreeing to any weekend away."

"I won't."

He held out his hand but didn't take mine. He waited for me to decide.

I looked at his open palm, then at the face I had known for years. Suddenly, I noticed the faint crease beside his left eye and the tension in his jaw, betraying just how much my answer mattered to him.

I slipped my fingers into his.

"Only as far as the stairs," I warned.

"Of course."

He opened the door, and warmth, music, and the scent of fresh flowers spilled into the corridor. We walked side by side. When we reached the banister, I saw his mother below, smiling through tears, and a dozen or more faces turning towards us.

Paweł slowed.

"Iga?"

"What?"

"I'm sorry I put you in this position."

I gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"You have no idea how much this is going to cost you."

He smiled, but there was nothing theatrical about it this time.

"I'm afraid I'm beginning to."

I should have let go of his hand.

Instead, I took the first step down beside him, wondering why the prospect of pretending to be his girlfriend seemed less dangerous than the possibility that, for one brief moment, neither of us would have to pretend at all.

Chapter 1 - The Rules of the Performance

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, Paweł's mother looked at us in a way that immediately made me understand why actors needed good directors. Without a single rehearsal, without reading a script, and certainly without my permission, I had been cast as the woman the Sadowski family had been waiting for all these years.

And the worst part was that the audience looked delighted.

"Iga, darling!" Barbara Sadowska broke away from a group of guests and hurried towards us. She wore a cream-coloured suit, silver earrings, and a smile so genuine that, for a moment, I couldn't bring myself to respond with equal enthusiasm. "How wonderful that you're here! Paweł said you might be late."

"Work," I explained, allowing her to embrace me. "I still had a few things to finish at the studio."

"I know, I know. That theatre of yours never gives either of you a moment's rest."

I didn't correct her, although my studio wasn't part of any theatre. I had been running my own business for three years, working with several companies, sometimes designing entire collections of costumes, sometimes rescuing a wardrobe department two days before a premiere. Barbara knew about my professional ambitions, but like most of Paweł's acquaintances, she tended to regard our work as belonging to one shared world.

"But no talking about work tonight," she announced. "I finally want to enjoy having my family together."

Before I could answer, her gaze drifted towards our intertwined hands.

I let go of Paweł's hand a fraction too late.

"Oh," Barbara said softly.

There was so much hope packed into that single syllable that I felt like a fraud, although I hadn't told a single lie all evening.

Paweł stood beside me.

"Mum, I wanted to talk to you."

"Of course, sweetheart. But first, come to the table. Your father's already asking about the cake, Teresa is looking for the glasses she's wearing on top of her head, and I'm trying to remember the last time I felt this happy."

She kissed his cheek and walked away before he could say another word.

I watched her go.

"You're doing a magnificent job of clearing up this misunderstanding," I muttered.

"I hadn't anticipated the cake becoming an obstacle."

"With your family, you should anticipate everything."

Paweł glanced sideways at me.

"You can still leave."

"And you can stop reminding me that I can leave. I'm beginning to suspect you're trying to get rid of me."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"If I were trying to do that, I'd be considerably less convincing."

Once again, I felt that strange shift in how I heard his words. A week earlier, a remark like that would have made me laugh and nothing more. Now, for one brief moment, I wondered whether he was really talking only about our presence at the party.

I didn't have time to decide.

Aunt Teresa appeared beside us with a glass of champagne and the expression of a woman who had just uncovered a secret greater than every other family secret combined.

"I knew it!" she declared triumphantly.

"Aunt Teresa, please," Paweł began.

"You don't have to explain a thing. I've been telling Barbara for ages that no man looks at an ordinary friend the way you look at Iga."

I looked at Paweł.

He looked at the ceiling.

"What way?" I asked with innocent curiosity.

Teresa laughed.

"Exactly like that, darling. As though the entire world could wait whenever you have something to say."

My reply caught in my throat.

Paweł wasn't joking. He wasn't protesting. He was watching me with unsettling attention, as though checking whether his aunt's words had upset me.

"Teresa," he said calmly, "we really do need to talk later."

"Of course. You can tell me everything at the weekend."

She walked away, leaving us with yet another problem.

"Your family doesn't believe in commas," I observed. "Someone tries to squeeze in one sentence, and they've already moved on to the next celebration."

"Now you understand why I became an actor."

"So someone would finally give you a line?"

"So that, at least once, someone would listen until I'd finished speaking."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

That was precisely my problem with Paweł. He could disarm me with a single sentence, even when I had every right to be angry with him. Not because I took his mistakes lightly. Rather, because I knew that behind his humour there was often something he didn't want other people to see.

For the next half hour, we managed to behave relatively normally. Paweł talked to his relatives, I ate a slice of cake, and I exchanged a few words with a set designer I knew who had also been invited to the party. When Barbara asked her son to join the family photograph, I discreetly stepped aside.

Paweł noticed immediately.

He didn't try to call me back.

That small courtesy reassured me more than it should have.

It was only later, when I went out onto the terrace for some fresh air, that he found me standing beside the stone balustrade.

The Łódź evening smelled of wet paving stones and autumn. Leaves rustled in the garden, and beyond the high fence a tram passed by, reminding me that just a few dozen metres from this elegant mansion, the rest of the world was still occupied with ordinary concerns.

Paweł handed me a glass of water.

"I thought you'd had enough champagne."

"I haven't had a single drop."

"Exactly."

I accepted the glass.

For a while, we stood in silence. Silence was usually easy with him. We didn't need conversation to justify being together. We could spend an hour in a theatre dressing room, each occupied with our own work, and neither of us felt obliged to fill the quiet.

This time, however, the silence was crowded with things I couldn't ignore.

"I spoke to Mum," he said.

I turned towards him.

"And?"

"I told her she'd jumped to conclusions. That we're friends."

Relief washed over me, but his expression suggested the conversation hadn't ended quite so simply.

"What did she say?"

"That of course she understood if we weren't ready to announce anything yet."

I closed my eyes.

"Unbelievable."

"I know."

"Did you tell her directly?"

"Yes. But when I realised she was taking it as an attempt to protect our privacy, I didn't push the issue in front of everyone. I told her we'd talk about it again."

"So she still thinks we're together."

"Probably."

"Paweł, this isn't a problem you can solve by waiting for it to disappear."

"I know."

I studied him for a long moment. In the half-light, his face looked different from the way it had under the bright lights of the ballroom. His eyes were tired, and beneath his carefully knotted tie I could see a tension the other guests hadn't noticed.

"Why is this weekend so important to her?" I asked.

He rested his elbows on the balustrade.

"It's the first time since Aunt Ewa died that Mum has organised something just for the immediate family at that house. She couldn't bring herself to go back for years. Now she's decided she wants to reclaim it as a place for the family."

I knew about Barbara's sister. Paweł had told me once how close they had been. The house outside Łódź had originally belonged to their grandparents and later became the setting for family gatherings, gatherings that had stopped after Ewa's death.

"I don't want to ruin the weekend for her," he added.

"The truth won't ruin her weekend."

"I know. I just want to choose a moment when she can actually listen to me instead of looking after twenty guests."

It was an argument I could understand. That didn't excuse everything.

"And where do I fit into this plan?"

He turned to face me fully.

"That's exactly what I wanted to ask you."

"Ask me what?"

"Would you consider coming with me? For two days. Even if Mum still thinks we're a couple."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"You just told me you need to clear up this misunderstanding."

"And I will. I'd just like to do it after the weekend."

"Which means we'd be keeping the lie going for two days."

"Yes."

He didn't search for a more attractive way to describe it. I appreciated the honesty, although it did nothing to improve my mood.

"No."

He nodded.

"All right."

He took a step towards the terrace doors, but I stopped him with a gesture.

"I want to know why you're really asking me to do this. Saying it will make your mother happy isn't enough."

Paweł looked out over the garden for a moment.

"Because if you come, I'll be able to behave like the man she wants to see. Someone who can stay with another person for longer than a few months. And lately, I haven't had many reasons to feel proud of my life outside the theatre."

That admission surprised me more than his proposal.

"But you've got a wonderful role, you're preparing for a premiere..."

"Exactly. Everything you've just mentioned happens at the theatre."

I said nothing. I knew how much the past few months had cost him. A failed relationship, endless rehearsals, uncertainty within the company. But I had never heard him speak about himself with such bitterness.

"You don't need a girlfriend for appearances to make your mother proud of you."

"I know."

"And yet you're asking me."

"Yes."

Only then did I understand that we weren't talking solely about a weekend. Paweł was trying to avoid the moment when he would have to admit to the people closest to him that his life looked different from what they had imagined. I, meanwhile, had spent years fighting for the right to make my own decisions without having to explain them to anyone.

We could hardly have had more different reasons for fearing the same thing.

"I have a project presentation next week," I said. "If I get this contract, I'll be able to hire another seamstress and stop working through the night. I'm not putting that aside for your family."

"I'm not asking you to."

"That's exactly what you're asking."

"I'm asking for a weekend. Not for you to change your life."

"Sometimes those things amount to the same thing for me."

He fell silent.

After a moment, he took out his phone and opened his calendar.

"Your presentation is on Thursday, right?"

"Yes."

"We'd leave on Friday afternoon. Come back Sunday morning if you want. I can go alone and tell my parents you're working. I can even cancel my own visit. It's your decision."

I hadn't expected him to start looking for solutions instead of arguments against me.

"And what's your condition?" I asked.

He raised his eyebrows.

"What makes you think I have one?"

"I know you."

He smiled faintly.

"If you agree, I'd like us not to treat this as another performance. I don't want to invent stories about where we met, what we love most about each other, or when we fell in love. We really do know each other. We can tell the truth about everything except one thing."

"Except the fact that we're not a couple."

"Yes."

I ran a finger around the cold rim of my glass.

"That's a very big exception, Paweł."

"I know."

"And an uncomfortable one. Especially for me."

"That's why you should set the rules. If you want to consider it at all."

Before I could answer, the terrace doors opened and Barbara stepped outside. She had draped a pale shawl around her shoulders. She looked around until she spotted us by the balustrade.

"There you are! I was beginning to worry you'd slipped away without saying goodbye."

Paweł straightened.

"Mum, we're in the middle of a conversation."

"I know, darling. I won't interrupt. I only wanted to ask Iga whether she enjoys her morning coffee on a terrace. The house has such a beautiful view of the orchard, especially at this time of year."

I smiled uncertainly.

"I do love coffee."

"I knew it!" Barbara looked delighted, as though I had confirmed something infinitely more important. "Ewa always said the best way to get to know that house was in the morning. I'll prepare a room for you upstairs, the one with the big windows."

Paweł responded immediately.

"Mum, please don't prepare anything yet."

Barbara looked at him in surprise.

"Why not?"

"Because we haven't decided whether Iga is coming."

Disappointment crossed her face so briefly that I might have missed it if I hadn't been watching carefully.

"Of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to presume."

She turned to go, but I stopped her.

"Mrs Sadowska?"

She looked back at me.

"If I come, I'd love to see the orchard."

Her face lit up.

"That would be wonderful, darling. Now I'll leave you two in peace."

When she disappeared inside, Paweł slowly turned his gaze towards me.

"Iga..."

"I haven't agreed."

"I know."

"I said if."

"I heard you."

"And don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I've just saved your life."

He drew a deep breath.

"You haven't. But you've given me a chance I had no right to expect."

That was enough to make me realise I was beginning to lose an argument I hadn't wanted to lose in the first place.

We didn't go back inside until the music had grown quieter. For the rest of the evening, I maintained an appropriate distance. I didn't allow Paweł to put his arm around me in front of his family, although he didn't even try. We spoke to guests separately, and whenever someone asked about our plans together, I answered truthfully that we both had a great deal of work.

Shortly before midnight, I ordered a taxi.

Paweł walked me to the entrance. His jacket looked far too thin for the cold air, but he gave no indication that he was freezing.

"I don't want your answer tonight," he said.

"Good, because I wasn't going to give it."

"We can sit down tomorrow and work everything out calmly. If you say no after that, I'll tell my family the truth before the weekend."

I studied his face for a moment.

"Without taking offence?"

"Without taking offence."

"Without any arguments about your poor mother?"

"Without those."

"And without reminding me that we're friends?"

This time, he took a moment before answering.

"I don't want our friendship to be the price you pay for my convenience."

An uncomfortable ache settled in my chest. It was sentences like that which made maintaining a sensible distance from him so difficult.

The taxi pulled up beside the kerb.

"Tomorrow at six," I said. "At my studio."

"I'll be there."

He opened the car door for me, but before getting in, I turned towards him once more.

"Paweł?"

"Yes?"

"If we're going to pretend to be a couple, don't expect me to kiss you just to make it convincing."

An expression I couldn't interpret crossed his face.

"I would never expect a kiss from you, Iga."

I got into the taxi and closed the door.

It was only after the car pulled away that I realised he'd said he would never expect a kiss.

Not that he wouldn't want one.

And the difference troubled me all the way home.