I ate breakfast quietly, worry curling in the pit of my stomach. I attempted to ignore it, concentrating instead on the atmosphere Cooper grew up in. Cooper’s Stepmother was the classic trophy wife: beautiful (if plastic surgery counted), rich, and stupid.
I supposed I was being harsh. She was a nice woman, and despite the fact I was sure she had the IQ of a coconut, I still kind of liked her. It was plain she liked me. Apparently, before I’d reentered Cooper’s life, he’d been a serious pain in the but. He was polite to her now.
I smiled, pleased that I had an effect on him.
And then the worry came back again, wondering how exactly he might be affecting me. I swallowed hard, trying to distract myself again.
Cooper’s dad had never been much of a father. Work and Money obsessed, his expectations were enormously higher than his morals. Cooper never measured up, and their relationship was a fragmented one. However, he couldn’t object to me, not when Cooper wasn’t allowed to object to his many stepmothers.