Dean’s a mess. He’s met my mother and aunts once; now he’s calling them “the tias”? Oh, wait. I see what he’s doing. Catch up, Solange. You’re fake dating him, remember?

“I’ve never been to Brazil,” Molly says on a wistful sigh. “But I hear so much about the food. I’d love to try it sometime.”

Peter snaps his fingers. “I have a great idea. Seeing as this place still doesn’t have a table for us, how about we ditch it and head over to . . . What’s it called, Solange?”

I gulp before answering. “Rio de Wheaton.”

“Right,” Peter says, his smile slick and slimy. “Rio de Wheaton. I’m sure the tias would love to see you and Dean, and then we can get some of those salgaritas—”

Eek. He’s an oaf. “Salgadinhos, you mean.”

“Sure, sure,” he says. “What do you think?”

Nia bounces in her seat and claps her hands. “Can we? That would be an excellent way to top off this trip.”

Oh my Lord, this is the stuff of nightmares. We’re this close to successfully ending the charade; a visit to Rio de Wheaton, though, risks so many potential land mines, we’re likely to be swallowed whole by the resulting crater.

I glance at Dean, trying to gauge whether he’s aware of the danger. Goodness, is that sweat on his forehead?

He removes his hand from my lap and sits up. “I don’t know. The traffic might not be great out that way.”

Molly, who typically doesn’t contribute all that much to our conversations, suddenly pipes up. “I go out to UMD for research every Wednesday, and I can get us there in no time. I’ll just tell our driver to take Sixteenth Street and head out on 97.” Now she’s an expert in DMV traffic patterns?

Think, Solange. Think. “Well, it’s late in the day, so I’m not sure they’ll have a good selection. But we could try a place in—”

With his phone at his ear and his eyes boring into mine, Peter speaks to someone, probably Tia Mariana, on the line. “Yes? Hello? Is this Rio de Wheaton? Yeah, I’m wondering if you have salgaritas—”

“Salgadinhos,” Molly snaps, her nose flaring before she adopts a serene “so help me” expression.

Peter smiles hard. “Yeah, salgadinhos. You do? Fresh from the oven too? Excellent, excellent. Thank you!” He shoves his phone in his pants pocket and rubs his hands. “So we’re doing this?”

I glance at Dean. He’s eyeing the exits as if he’s seriously considering a quick escape.

“Dean, what do you say?” Peter asks.

“Sure, if it’s okay with everyone else, it’s okay by me.”

Peter throws up his hands in vindictive glee. “Yes! I’ll arrange for a seven-passenger. We’re going on an adventure!”