Brenda Chiatovich:
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I created the concept of The Homewrecker series. A girl who has lived such a privileged life she does not even realize she is privileged. Now she must adjust to a world she does not understand and she has to face herself in the process.
Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
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Hello. I am Brenda’s daughter. When my grand pop and my mom were deciding on a name for LC’s arch nemesis they chose one of my nicknames, Peaches.
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In the second novel I appear again, this time as Sara, another of my nicknames.
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Sara is a fun character based loosely on my personality. Please, it is NOT biographical in any way. This is, after all, a work of fiction.
“So who are we going to kill?” she asked, teasingly. She shook the curls of her dyed blonde hair casually as though it happened without thought, although she had practiced the gesture in the mirror until she had the move, and the expression down perfectly.
They were still naked although time was running out and soon they would have to break up. She was leaned over him, tickling the tips of her nipples on his chest hairs.
“Don’t know yet.”
He wanted to grab her and pull her close. He didn’t like it when she teased him like she was doing. He was unaware she was doing something simply because her body enjoyed it. It never occurred to him she might do something like that. But he did not say anything to her one way or the other. Pretty much everything in his future depended on her. He wasn’t sure if she knew that or not. It was not something he was going to point out to her.
“She will have to be pretty though. We’ll get to that. Soon. She will present herself. Don’t worry.”
The woman above him flounced. “Pretty, pretty, pretty.” She chanted. “So are you going to be cherry popping this slut?”
He laughed. “Maybe. If that would make you want to kill her more. Give you some enthusiasm for your work.”
“You bastard.” She said, yanking out a handful of chest hair. She had the satisfaction of watching him wince fiercely. His manly image of himself would not allow him to openly admit it hurt him.
“Stop that.” He said.
“So why do we have to hunt for a worthy victim? Why can’t you just off the old bag?”
“Careful. You are talking about my wife.” He emphasized the word “are.”
“Oh, aren’t we the prissy one. I can talk about chopping her up and tossing her body parts in a dumpster and you don’t blink. But I call her an old bat and you get all self righteous on me. So tell me. Why don’t we just off your sweet little Mrs. Wrinkle Twat. It would save one hell of a lot of work.”
“Because whenever a married person is murdered the spouse is the first suspect. Too much chance of something going wrong. If they don’t find somebody else to blame they will keep coming back to me. Forever.” He
“Would be simpler.”
“Yeah but dangerous. This way nobody can connect us and nobody will try because when it happens I will have an iron clad alibi.”
“You just make damn sure you don’t really end up in bed with this slut we are going to off or I’ll leave your body right next to hers.”
pulled his lover to him, laughing, but he wasn’t entirely sure she was joking.
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