"Then let us see." He spread his hands, all innocence. "If the results are normal, everyone can relax. Problem solved."
My fingers tightened around the crumpled report.
Normal?
A dozen markers. Every single one positive.
If I showed this, Cedric Simmons would be finished. His reputation, his future—gone.
I still didn't understand why he was doing this. Why humiliate me at my own wedding?
But I couldn't stop remembering.
That rainy night when I was eight years old. A pack of kids had shoved me into the gutter, circling like hyenas, chanting ugly freak and scarface while mud soaked through my clothes.
Only one person had stepped between us.
"He got that scar saving someone's life! It's not his fault! What gives you the right to treat him like this?"
Cedric Simmons. My defender. My brother.
I couldn't destroy him.
Not even now.
Everyone praised him—handsome, kind-hearted, a genuine good guy.
For the first time in my life, I had someone willing to stand by my side.
So I wanted to protect him, just like I had when I was eight.
Even though I still didn't know how he'd contracted an STD.
I figured I'd ask him privately later.