The Emerald Vow

The Sunday roast at the Miller household always smelled of rosemary, red wine, and disappointment. Diane kept her gaze anchored to her plate, methodically dissecting a baby potato as if it held the secrets of the universe. Across the table, the candlelight caught the rhythmic flash of the five-carat diamond on her stepsister’s left hand.

“You know, Diane,” Barbara started, her voice sliding into that polished, melodic register that usually preceded a puncture wound. “I was looking at the guest list for the wedding again. Elena has been so diligent about the seating arrangements. She has such a natural eye for harmony. It’s a shame you don’t take more after her.”

Diane’s grip tightened on her fork. Elena sat there, radiating the effortless glow of a woman who had never had to fight for a seat at any table. Beside her sat Julian—the man who had been Diane’s boyfriend for three years until Elena “accidentally” fell in love with him two summers ago. Now, he was the fiancé, the golden son-in-law, and the constant reminder of Diane’s status as the family’s resident failure.

“I’m just doing my own thing, Barbara,” Diane said, her voice sounding thin even to her own ears.

“Your ‘own thing’ seems to involve a lot of brooding and being difficult,” her father added from the head of the table, not looking up from his meal. “We are a family of high achievers, Diane. Being the ‘rebel’ is a phase that should have ended years ago. You’re becoming the family’s permanent shadow.”

Elena leaned forward, her expression a masterclass in performative pity. “Mom’s just worried, Di. It’s been two years since the... transition. We just want to see you with someone. Someone stable. Someone like Julian.”

Julian had the decency to look slightly uncomfortable, shifting in his seat, but he didn’t look away. The silence that followed was heavy with the collective assumption that Diane was, and would always be, alone.

“I have a relationship,” Diane blurted out.

The clink of silver against china stopped abruptly. Four sets of eyes turned toward her—skeptical, amused, and cold.

“Oh?” Barbara arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “And who is this mystery man? Does he have a name, or is he another one of those ‘creative types’ who disappears when the bill comes?”

The pressure in Diane’s chest rose like a dark tide. She saw the smirk tugging at the corner of Elena’s mouth, the silent agreement that Diane was the black sheep, the one who couldn’t keep a man or a reputation.

“He’s... he’s wonderful,” Diane lied, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. “He’s very private. He doesn’t care for the spotlight.”

“Well, he’ll have to get over that,” Barbara said, a sharp challenge in her eyes. “The wedding is in three weeks. We’ve already finalized the seating chart, but I suppose we can squeeze in a plus-one at the back—if he actually exists.”

Diane felt the room start to spin. The thought of walking into that wedding alone, watching Julian marry the sister who betrayed her while her parents whispered about her “sad life,” was more than she could stomach.

“He’ll be there,” Diane said, her voice gaining a desperate, reckless edge. “I’m bringing him as my date to the wedding. You’ll meet him then.”

“I can’t wait,” Elena chirped, though her eyes remained predatory. “I’ll make sure the photographer gets a shot of the four of us together. It’ll be so... healing.”

As the dinner resumed, Diane felt a cold sweat break out across her neck. She had twenty-one days to find a man willing to play the part of a lifetime—or she’d have to leave the country and never look back.

The dining room felt like a vacuum, sucking the air out of Diane’s lungs. She managed to survive another ten minutes of Barbara’s “helpful” wedding tips before making her escape.

Safely locked in the sanctuary of the guest bathroom, she gripped the edge of the marble vanity. Her reflection looked pale, her eyes wide with the realization of the massive lie she had just constructed. She needed a man. Not just any man—a man who could outshine Julian, withstand her father’s interrogation, and look Barbara in the eye without flinching.

There was only one person who fit that description. But calling him was like playing with a blowtorch.

She pulled out her phone and dialed the number she knew by heart but rarely dared to use. Lorenzo Moretti. He was her best friend Sienna’s older brother, a man who moved through the world with a dangerous, quiet authority that made most people step aside. He was also the only person who had ever made Diane feel like she wasn’t just “the shadow.”

The phone rang twice before a familiar, melodic voice answered instead of Lorenzo’s deep rumble.

“Diane? Why are you calling my brother’s personal line at dinner time? Is everything okay?”

“Sienna?” Diane’s voice squeaked. “I... I thought this was Enzo’s number.”

“It is. He’s right here, we’re just finishing up a meeting. You sound like you’re having a heart attack. Talk to me.”

Diane leaned her forehead against the cool mirror. The words tumbled out in a frantic, humiliated rush. She told Sienna about the roast lamb, about Elena’s smug diamond, and the catastrophic lie she’d told about having a date for the wedding in three weeks.

“I’m a dead woman, Sienna,” Diane whispered. “They’re going to eat me alive when I show up alone. I was going to ask Enzo if he... if he could maybe... for a fee...”

“For a fee?” Sienna’s laugh was sharp and delighted. “Di, stop. You don’t need a fee. You need a Moretti.”

“Sienna, no, don’t—”

“Enzo!” Sienna’s voice muffled as she clearly turned away from the phone, but Diane could still hear her loud and clear. “Diane’s family is being a pack of hyenas again. That snake Elena is rubbing her engagement in Di’s face. She needs a date for the wedding to shut them up. Tell her you’ll do it.”

There was a long, agonizing silence. Diane held her breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. Then, the rustle of the phone being handed over.

“Diane.”

The sound of his voice—low, gravelly, and entirely too calm—sent a shiver straight down her spine. Lorenzo didn’t sound like a “rent-a-date.” He sounded like a complication.

“Lorenzo,” she breathed. “I’m so sorry. Sienna is overreacting. I didn’t mean to—”

“Three weeks?” he interrupted.

“Yes, but—”

“I’ll do it,” Lorenzo said. His tone was final, leaving no room for her to backtrack. “But we’re not going as ‘friends,’ Diane. If I’m walking into that lion’s den with you, we’re doing it properly. They won’t just think you have a date. They’ll think you’ve won.”

“Won?” Diane swallowed hard. “Enzo, what does that mean?”

“It means I’ll be at your door at seven tomorrow. We need to get our story straight.”

The line went dead before she could protest. Diane stared at her phone, the weight of the lie shifting into something much heavier. She had a date, alright. She just wasn’t sure if she had solved her problem or invited a storm into her life that she couldn’t control.