The problem with planning anything for George was simple:
He hated surprises.
He hated crowds.
He hated attention.
I had decided to plan a surprise birthday for him.
Not a big one, just the people he knew.
Guilia handled that part, mostly because the people in his circle were business-coded and I didn’t know anything about that world.
The real problem?
Getting George to the house we’d planned the surprise in without him suspecting a thing. Using his house was impossible, he would’ve figured it out instantly.
“Where are we going?” he asked for the third time, voice low, suspicious, his fingers drumming irritably against the steering wheel.
He had picked me up from my hostel after school because I told him to… and then the interrogation started.
“Just… somewhere,” I said, staring
