"Sure," I answer, putting my arm around her and kissing her on the head. The girls are just gorgeous, as are the little boys, and everyone in Sebastian's family are different than I expected. They're all so nice, and it makes me wonder why he doesn't want to come home more often. If this were my family, I'd want to be around them. Plus, they all seem sincere.

Unlike him.

Forgiveness, forgiveness, forgiveness.

Ugh!

His mom states, "It's nice to see you eat a dessert, Sebastian."

He freezes and gives her a hardened look.

"What? I'm just saying," she claims.

I interject, "He doesn't eat them very often."

"Well, you know why, right?" Willow asks.

"He has a fat complex?" I blurt out.

"He used to be fat," Jagger mentions, stuffing more of his cupcake in his mouth.

Sebastian Cartwright was fat? No way.

I glance at Sebastian. He clenches his jaw.

"Well, he had diabetes, if you want to know all the details," Ruby adds.

Shock hits me, along with a bit of worry. I ask him, "You had diabetes?"

"I was a kid. I liked sweets. I ate a lot of them. That's what happens when you eat too much sugar. I keep telling you this. So, yeah, I was diabetic, but I reversed it, and I'm trying not to ever have it again," he defensively admits.

"With that strict diet you keep and all the workouts, you don't need to worry about it anymore, Sebastian. I've told you several times you can relax a little bit," his mom says.

Sebastian's face grows red. "Excuse me for not wanting to be diabetic, have to shoot myself up with insulin, put my limbs at risk of amputation, and die early."

I make a note to figure out how to make some sugar-free cupcakes for him that don't taste horrible. But then I scold myself. I'm not going to be married to him long enough to worry about that. Besides, why should I do anything for him when he's been so mean and disrespectful to me?

Still, it can't be easy turning down cupcakes all the time when I'm throwing them in his face.

I thought Sebastian was just overly worried about his fit body. This new information makes me feel bad for tempting him every day in the office.

Evelyn rises, breaking the tension, and proclaiming, "Time for ornaments."

The kids get excited again and race into the other room.

Evelyn demands, "Georgia, you have to make one too."

"Is this a Cartwright thing?" I ask.

"Yeah, we do it every year. Then tomorrow, when the tree gets cut down and brought in, everyone has their new ornaments and old ones to put on the tree," she informs me.

"Oh. That's a great tradition. I'd love to make one," I admit and go into the other room.