Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

And she took my hands and placed them on hers, which
were in my ending pose. I ran my hands lightly over hers,
feeling the bends in the joints of her fingers, the tendons on the
backs of her hands, and the smooth line down her wrist to her
arm, so I could emulate it.
“Thanks,” I told her, breathing hard.
I put my hands on my waist, my light, billowy top falling
off one shoulder and baring some skin to the welcome cool air
of the old, drafty building.
“Again?” she asked.
“What time is it?”
She paused a moment. “Almost five.”
I nodded. I had a half hour, so may as well soak it up
before the money ran out.
I heard her steps as she walked over to restart the music,
and I counted my own steps from the sandpaper glued to the
floor to the center, finding my starting mark.
“You don’t have to stay,” I told her. “I have the driver. I’ll
be fine.”
The Torrances insisted on our own personal drivers, and
while we sporadically hired them for certain occasions
growing up, we never kept any on the payroll. My sister loved
the new perk. The new perk that came with her new name.
But I knew the ulterior motives behind the gesture. A
driver reported our comings and goings to the one who paid
them, so GGabriel and Damon were aware of our every move.
The driver was my leash.
“You know,” she started as the music began, “they offered
to pay…for you to continue classes.”
I stopped. “What do you mean? Who?”
“GGabriel Torrance’s assistant called and said to have your
classes billed to him,” she told me. “In case you’d like to get
on the schedule again.”