Page 47 of The Sun and the Moon

Sydney

I am the one to twine our fingers as we walk.

It happens like an instinct—a longing to be close, to feel the heat of her skin.

I fit our palms together, savoring the texture of her rough calluses, her deft grip.

I don’t know if she’ll keep holding on when we reach our parents’ room or if this thing between us is a secret she wants to keep even as we demand the truth from both of them.

But I do think it won’t stay hidden, whether our hands are gripped or not.

The Sun and the Moon and the Two of Cups.

I never told Cadence about the reading—I should stop her now, tug her into a corner and tell her.

I don’t consider myself a naturally intuitive person, or maybe I’ve just pushed that part of me so far down in my quest to be the perfect daughter, to live the life I think will make me the least likely to ever actually get hurt, that I can’t hear the truth inside me anymore.

Maybe it’s sick of me pressing snooze on the truth. Right now, I feel it like a siren scream.

The sun’s light touches everything. Your secrets aren’t safe.

But it’s too late.

Cadence releases my hand to knock on the door. I tighten my fingers into a fist. The string is still threading us together, and I don’t fear who knows it.

Moira’s laughter cuts through the thickness of the door as she approaches, her voice audible. “We aren’t getting one, you goose,” she says, I assume to Dad. I assume she’s referring to their surreptitious invitations. The handle turns. The door opens.

Her eyes land on us. Cadence first, then me.

I feel a shiver up my spine at the look on her face. Steady gaze, her brow set, her lips curling ever so slightly upward. She can cut through defenses with a look, a heat-seeking missile that never, ever misses its target.

There’s no way Dad tricked her into a single fucking thing.

“To what do we—” she begins, her tone as neutral as Switzerland.

“We need to talk to you,” Cadence says, and then her eyes shift behind Moira to where Dad sits at the small round table in their room. “Both.”

Moira’s hip cocks out, but her expression shows no waver.

It gives me the distinct feeling that she knew this was coming—planned it to happen this way or, at the very least, expected it.

I can’t bring myself to entertain the idea that this whole week has been orchestrated by her to play out this way, but I can’t deny there have been signs.

There are moves that feel too perfect to be coincidence.

She steps aside to let us in the room. It’s bigger than ours, with a seating area and a small dining table.

The bathroom, including the mirror and vanity, are in a whole separate room with a door.

Above the bed hangs a watercolor print of the Danish countryside, complete with a windmill and a herd of goats.

Dad has a deck of cards in his hand, which he doesn’t set down but shuffles robotically.

He was probably practicing some sleight of hand.

His eyes are on me, and I’m sure he’s picking up on the tension in my body.

There’s no way he doesn’t read it on my face.

I just wonder if he’s put together that the reason for it is him.

Moira shuts the door behind us and comes around in a fluid movement toward the table. A bottle of wine sits, corked but already opened.

“Is this the kind of conversation that requires liquid courage?” Moira asks, reaching for the glass before she hears our answer. Cadence takes a step forward, her hand clenched at her side. Her body is rigid.

“We know about the wedding,” Cadence says without preamble. “I saw the invitations. I saw the cake in the kitchens. I saw the gazebo in the middle of the vineyard.”

Moira’s hand flinches, causing her pour to become uneven. She doesn’t spill, and she doesn’t stop pouring until her glass is half-full, but she takes these few seconds to get her face under control. I watch it shift into a neutral catlike expression.

Dad, however, doesn’t know how to play it cool.

“I was going to tell you today, Birdie,” Dad says, standing from the table. He even abandons the cards, freeing his hands to reach out for me.

I step farther away.

“You had all week to tell me, Dad,” I say. I press my feet into the carpet, planting them. My knees are weak, and I worry my resolve isn’t as strong as it should be. “What happened today with Pam, it’s not an excuse.” My voice quivers with anger or sadness, I’m not sure which.

“We wanted it to be a surprise for you.” Moira steps in. She literally comes to stand next to Dad, places her hand on his shoulder. His face has fallen into a desperate, apologetic frown, but when she makes contact I see his shoulders straighten.

“So you lied to us?” I ask.

“We…” Dad struggles.

“Fibbed.” Moira doesn’t.

It’s surprising how fast the rage bubbles up, explosive and unchecked. “Wow. You really are a fucking mastermind.” She smiles at the non-compliment. “Cadence said you were manipulative, but I kept hoping that was personal. Mom shit—not that I’d really know. My mom wasn’t like that.”

“Sydney, I understand that you’re hurt, but Moira isn’t to blame here. I was just as much a part of the decision to make this whole thing a little bait and switch. The perfect magic trick.”

“And was your scheme to get my mom to refinance her house and her business part of that little trick?” Cadence says, her voice razor-sharp.

Their attention shifts to her. Dad looks bamboozled, but Moira? She’s actually grinning . Gleeful. This is what she wanted, and I just can’t understand why.

“That’s why you two were at the bank,” Moira says simply. My stomach flips over. I feel seasick.

“You knew we were both there,” Cadence says, her own voice even and steady.

“Cadence, I saw you following me. You two are not very good private eyes.”

The only sign that her words are affecting Cadence is the slight tinge of pink in her cheeks. “You let us follow you. You let us spy on you.”

“And then…” Moira takes a sip of wine.

“You gave Sydney a reading.” Cadence turns her gaze to me. There’s another sign I couldn’t see when she wasn’t looking my way. Her eyes are bright with tears she’s holding back. “You never told me what cards you pulled. But let me guess. She said you would meet your soulmate.”

Her words crash over me like thrashing waves in a rough sea.

“I was scared you’d push me away,” I say, my voice cracking.

“She really likes you, Cadence,” Dad breaks in.

“Your help isn’t helping,” I snap. He covers his lips with his knuckles.

Cadence turns back to look at Moira. “His friend has been hitting him up for money that he owes him.”

“Greg said you’ve been digging yourself out of a hole, Dad.

” I don’t want to focus on this part, and not just because it sucks for me.

I want to focus on Cadence—I don’t want her to slip away.

But this matters to the pinky promise. I’m in this thing with her all the way.

I’m not running from the pact. I’m running into it head-on.

Us against them.

Moira looks to Dad. His face is ashen, but he doesn’t look away from me. He doesn’t hide behind a broad smile or jaunty tone. He stands there, vulnerable, emotionally exposed.

He says, “I’ve been in and out of Gamblers Anonymous since I quit piloting.”

“Gamblers—” I start, incredulous. “You have a gambling problem?”

“I have it under control,” he says, and drops down to the edge of the bed.

“That’s like the addict’s mantra,” I reply, crossing my arms.

“You don’t look surprised at all,” Cadence says to Moira. I can’t tear my eyes from Dad. How did I not see this?

“Of course I’m not surprised,” Moira replies, waving her off. “Rick and I have been one hundred percent honest with each other since we met.”

“That seems to be a sliding scale,” Cadence says, and I can’t bite back the chortle.

It’s an actual mindfuck, too bonkers to fathom but also genuinely humorous in a totally screwed-up way.

Dad is a gambler and amateur magician; Moira is a literal psychic for money.

They’re both tricksters and small-time con artists, just not to each other.

These two are perfect together.

Soulmates and schemers.

“We have a plan,” Dad says, reaching for Moira’s hand. She happily takes it.

“I’m selling Kismet. The house and the business. Closing it down. We’re going to use the money to pay off the debts and start our next chapter together.”

“You’re selling Kismet—” Cadence is breathless. This is a blow I wasn’t expecting. Neither was she. “But that’s your whole life.”

Moira’s expression softens for the first time. “Not anymore.”

“You can’t just stop being a psychic,” Cadence says. Her voice is wrecked. Her shoulders fall, the news shaking her out of that rigid stance.

“I won’t ever stop that part. But I can close Kismet,” Moira says.

The statement feels unfinished. “I had to go to the bank that day because they’re handling the closing, and they needed one last thing before we move forward.

” She hesitates. Whatever she’s about to say isn’t something she wants to share.

It’s not part of her plan, but she’s doing it anyway.

“Your father was a signer on the deed of the house, and I had to get him to agree to the sale.”

Her father.