It will take two acts of faith and one divine intervention to survive a troubled marriage as Marvin and Chandelle Hutchins happy union detours when buying their first home; one that she absolutely has to have but he’s positive they can’t afford. Heated arguments regarding their strained finances and his sudden lack of virility in the sack forces them to question their marriage, the love they share, and if it’s worth holding on to.
When Chandelle’s scheming cousin Dior falls on hard times and shows up with her luggage on their doorstep, the gloves come off and so do most of her clothes. An already rocky relationship is torn to shreds by deceitful tricks, carefully orchestrated to get Dior what she feels should be hers; Chandelle’s man. “Sinful” is the most fun you’ll have rooting for a bad girl to get what’s coming to her, although she is determined to go down swinging.
Victor McGlothin is Essence and National best selling author of “Autumn Leaves”, “What’s A Woman To Do?”, “Every Sistah Wants It”, “Down On My Knees” and “Borrow Trouble”
I know it’s a real question many women ask yourselves every time you and him are together then before you know it, here she comes. It’s difficult to share a good relationship with a third wheel who for whatever reason can’t sustain her own love-jones. People are asking me why I wrote my next book titled “Sinful.” It all started with one important question to all the ladies… would you tell your girlfriend to keep an eye on him if you had to leave town for a few days? Would you let him paint her apartment, fix something in it or hang over there without you? Would you let her come and crash at your place, if you lived with him. Think about it before you respond. Can you trust your girl with your man?
“Everybody’s got a weakness,” was Dior’s muted proclamation. Then, she sighed wearily as if nothing else mattered, while staring at her ragged reflection captured by the dusty hanging wall mirror inside of the tiny room at the Happy Horizons mental care facility where she’d been sentenced for psychiatric evaluation. Dior shouted silently at the image gazing back at her. “The difference with me is,” she continued, “I claim mine and ain’t never tried to put it off on nobody else.” After sweeping her hair, in desperate need of professional attention, underneath the baseball cap her favorite cousin Chandelle had brought along at her request, Dior smirked at her tired expression, forcing an awkward smile. Her eyes seemed darker, murkier, than she remembered them but her flawless cinnamon-brown complexion and attractive dominant features hadn’t waned one iota. She was still just as fine as she was when they checked her in and took her belt and shoelaces away. “You’re a Wicker too, Chandelle,” Dior spouted adamantly. “Or else you used to be. Deep down, where it makes every bit of difference, you still are so don’t go thinking that swooping me from this giggle factory, on my early release day makes you any better than me.” Dior sighed again, turning away from the image of a troubled twenty-five year old with a pretty face. She placed the last of her personal belongings into a stolen designer travel bag and then snapped her fingers in a snooty chop-chop fashion. “Get that bag for me Chandelle before they try to hold me for the full two week bid. I wasn’t loony when that stupid judge sent me here but I swear I ain’t wrapped too tight now. Go ahead on and get that bag off the bed, its checkout time.”