'Idiot' means 'I love you' in Floridian

George hadn't been a model for long, but he was far from new to being in the spotlight.

His father had served as the Cabinet Secretary to the Prime Minister since his older sister was still in diapers. So, needless to say, being in front of the camera was something George had been conditioned to since birth.

His cousins, parents, and even his own sister couldn't fathom why George would want to go into modeling of all careers, given that growing up in a position of virtually no privacy is expected to create a desire for a secluded life.

His sister, Olivia, had gone on to complete a master's degree in bioengineering, trying her absolute hardest to keep her accomplishment out of headlines. She was weary of sharing anything about her life with journalists, after a disguised tabloid reporter befriended her online and completely skewed a statement she had shared with him in confidence years ago. Since then, she had shied away from anything that would put her in the spotlight.

Their father had also taken a more controlling position of George and Olivia's online activities as a result.

Even so, George wasn't like his sister. He was arguably as intelligent, completing his own bachelor's degree in computer engineering, but he viewed the world differently from her. A life of hiding from the inevitable never appealed to him. The thought of running from cameras felt counterintuitive.

Other than his lack of interest in pursuing school further, George had another reason for switching his career path to modeling.

By being a model, it gave George the control he had always lacked- he chose when he got to be in front of the camera.

The perks that came along with being a model were an afterthought, really.

Perks like traveling the continent- the world on occasion. Being showered in diamonds and jewels without receiving a scolding call from his mother to interrogate him about the charges to his credit card. Even the opportunity to make a name for himself that separated him from his father's 'popularity'.

Convincing his heavily political parents to let him pursue modeling was no small feat. There was only one condition that George's family required he abide by, no matter how adamantly he refused it.

A bodyguard.

"It's only for your protection, George. Please just go easy on this one."

His mother gave him the same warning every time. In all honesty, he wasn't giving them a hard time- he was just demonstrating how utterly useless and incompetent the men they were hiring are.

A bodyguard is supposed to keep their eyes on him at all times, right? So, maybe, George liked to test their capabilities by evading their so-called 'protection' as often as he could. Whether it be slipping out back doors, giving incorrect times of photoshoots, or 'forgetting' to share his schedule- George was practically an expert on how to avoid the very person designated to monitor him.

Because that's all it really was- a glorified babysitter job. A bodyguard was someone who could keep tabs on him and report anything noteworthy back to his parents. George was twenty-six, not a toddler; he saw through the ruse immediately.

Despite his escaping being intentional, his father would fire the bodyguards immediately after getting word that George had managed to ditch them. In all fairness- how good is a bodyguard who can't keep track of the person they're meant to be guarding?

"Just don't hire a new one, that thought ever cross your mind?" George asked rhetorically, begrudgingly flicking around his plate of salad.

He was at his parents' house for Sunday dinner, something that was mandatory for him to attend whenever he was in London. His sister and maternal grandparents were there as well, as they were every week.