Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

But I didn’t have a chance to finish. The string quartet
stopped playing, and everyone exited the dance floor as I was
sure a speech was about to start.
But it was Winter’s voice I heard.
“I have a special gift for Michael and Erika,” she said, and
I moved a few steps to the right to get a view of her standing
in the middle of the dance floor. “Something I hope they’ll
find entertaining. But…” she smiled, looking beautiful with
her hair piled on top her head. “I hope the lovely couple
doesn’t mind—I’m dedicating this to my sister’s new
husband.”
What?
And then she moved her head around the room. “Damon?”
she called out, making everyone turn their heads in my
direction.
“I worked very hard,” she told me. “I hope you like it. You
know how much I love Christmas.”
Christmas? The village she wanted out of the basement
when she was in high school sprung to mind, and I
remembered that she decorated for the holiday the day after
Halloween. Which would be soon.
My eyes didn’t leave her as I took a step closer and placed
my glass on a tray as the server passed.
She wouldn’t dance for me. Not willingly anyway.
Finding her mark already placed on the dance floor, she
settled into a traditional pose, one foot turned out, the other
laying behind her, and her arms positioned down, forming a
circle.
She never started like that. She always came in already
moving, natural and unsophisticated. That was how she
danced. Uncivilized. It was what I loved.
The music started, a slow, jazzy guitar sound, the beats all
poised and separate. With each string, she moved. Controlled,
routine, and trite, a new pose for every chord. Arm out, toe