My mother-in-law, Mildred, hugged Lindsay warmly, kissed both her cheeks, and then handed her coat to a bellhop without so much as looking at me.

“Good thing you already took care of the rooms, Lindsay,” she said, surveying the marble lobby as if she’d bought it herself.

Not thank you, Camilo. Not hello. Nothing.

Then Roxanne swept in behind her, Lindsay’s younger sister, in oversized sunglasses, towing two enormous suitcases and the expression of a woman who believed the world was running behind on her VIP treatment.

She looked at Cruz and Sofia the way you’d look at something that had wandered in off the street.

“I thought this was supposed to be an elegant evening,” she murmured, just loud enough.