“How many shops are there in Las Vegas?” Lia said. “Do you know, Sloane?” The question was a kindness on Lia’s part—though she wouldn’t have liked me thinking of her as kind. “Sloane?” Lia repeated. Sloane looked up from her lap. “Napkins,” she said. “Not going to lie,” Michael put in. “I had no idea that was a number.” “I need napkins. And a pen.”
