When Michael Douglas, then 54, caught sight of Catherine Zeta-Jones portraying Elena Montero in 1998’s “The Mask of Zorro,” he was instantly captivated.
In that same year, both Oscar-winning actors found themselves at the Deauville Film Festival, with Zeta-Jones promoting the film alongside Antonio Banderas, and Douglas attending for his movie, “A Perfect Murder.”
Following his instincts, Douglas had his publicist arrange a meeting.
However, things didn’t quite go as planned.
“I met her in the bar and was a complete gentleman,” shared the star of “Fatal Attraction” with People magazine. He recounted inviting her back to his room for a nightcap.
Later that evening, when the now 54-year-old star of “Ocean’s Twelve” joined him, he fumbled by saying, “You know, I’m going to be the father of your children.”
Douglas remembers her response: “You know I’ve heard a lot about you, and I’ve seen a lot about you, and I think it’s time that I say goodnight.”
Meanwhile, Zeta-Jones, whose breakout role was in “The Mask of Zorro,” believed the encounter with her future husband was purely work-related.
“I was going to a film festival. I thought Michael Douglas wanted to meet me for work because I knew he was a producer as well as an actor. I genuinely thought that because I was in work mode and I was going to a film festival, and that’s where film deals are made,” explained Zeta-Jones.
“So I never thought, ‘Oh my God, he wants to date me.’ And within hours of meeting me, he told me he wanted to father my children. So I presumed this was not for a job.”
But Douglas was undeterred. Knowing he would soon be filming “Entrapment” in Scotland, he arranged for roses to be delivered to her room upon her arrival.
In a 2019 interview with Access, Zeta-Jones joked, “You know what the worst thing is? He was right.”
Despite their initial hiccups, the couple, who share the same birthday with a 25-year age gap, have faced challenges. In 2013, they briefly separated, reportedly due to stress. However, they reconciled after a year apart.
In 2010, Douglas battled throat cancer, while Zeta-Jones grappled with bipolar disorder. But through it all, their love endured.
Recently, on their 23rd wedding anniversary, the couple, now grandparents, expressed their enduring love for each other. Sharing photos from their wedding and beyond, Zeta-Jones wrote, “Today we celebrate 23 years of marriage. Darling Michael, your Nobel Peace Prize awaits, I love you… from your darling wife, a gold star Medal of Honor recipient.”
Douglas also took to Instagram to share his sentiments, writing, “Happy 23 and Me, my darling @catherinezetajones. Can’t wait for 24! Happy Anniversary.”
“One netizen expresses, ‘I’ve always admired you both, which has fueled my love for all things classic… Happy Wedding Anniversary, my all-time favorite couple.’
Another shares, ‘The most charming and perfect couple!!! Congratulations!!’ While a third adds, ‘Remarkable! You’ve got to be one of the best couples in Hollywood for sure. I admire both of your work! Thank you for so many years of fantastic entertainment.’”
I Met a Fortuneteller After My Wifes Funeral, The Next Day, Her Prediction Came True
The funeral was unbearable. Our daughters, Sophie and Emma, only four and five years old, kept asking, “Where’s Mommy?” I had no idea how to answer. How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? Thankfully, Elizabeth’s parents and sister were there to help handle the arrangements.
After the service, as I walked to my car in a daze, I felt someone watching me. At first, I thought it was just my grief playing tricks on me, but then I saw her—an old woman standing near the cemetery gates.
She looked ancient, her face etched with deep lines, her sharp eyes piercing through me as if she could see straight into my soul.
“Excuse me,” she called softly.
I hesitated but didn’t respond. I was too drained for conversation, especially with a stranger.
“I know your fate,” she said, her voice serious.
I frowned. “What?”
“Cross my palm with silver, and I’ll reveal the joy and sorrow that lie ahead,” she continued, holding out her hand.
I stared at her, bewildered. A fortune-teller? At a funeral? I shook my head, muttering, “I’m not interested,” and started to walk away.
But her next words stopped me cold. “Elizabeth won’t rest until justice is served.”
I turned back sharply. “What did you say?”
“Twenty dollars,” she said, beckoning with her bony fingers. “That’s all.”
Under normal circumstances, I would’ve dismissed her. But in my grief-stricken state, I was numb to everything. Twenty dollars seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I handed her the crumpled bill.
Her hand felt icy as she grabbed mine, her grip surprisingly firm. She didn’t take her eyes off me, and for a moment, I felt exposed, as though she could see all the pain I was carrying.
“Today, you’ve lost someone dear,” she whispered.
“Yeah, no kidding,” I said bitterly. “We’re at a cemetery.”
She didn’t flinch. “Your wife’s death was no accident.”
A chill ran down my spine. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s more to her death than you know. Tomorrow, the truth will begin to reveal itself.”
I felt my mouth go dry. “What truth?”
She smiled slowly, an unsettling grin. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll see.”
Before I could ask anything else, she turned and disappeared into the mist, vanishing as if she had never been there. I stood frozen, torn between disbelief and a strange sense of foreboding.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Elizabeth—her smile, her laugh, the way she kissed our daughters goodnight. But the fortuneteller’s cryptic words haunted me: “Your wife’s death was no accident.” Was there any truth to it? Could the crash have been something more sinister?
Unable to rest, I got up and sifted through Elizabeth’s things, desperate to feel close to her. Among her belongings, I found something odd—receipts from a car rental service. We had two cars. Why would she need a rental?
I stared at the receipts, my heart racing. The fortuneteller’s words echoed in my mind. “There’s more to her death than you know.”
The next morning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. I called Elizabeth’s best friend, Sarah, who worked at the garage where our cars were serviced. Maybe she could help me make sense of it all.
“Hey, Sarah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Did Elizabeth mention anything to you about renting a car?”
There was a brief pause before she answered. “Actually, yes. She rented a car when both of your cars were in the shop. It was for a surprise trip to the beach, but she returned it the day before… well, you know.”
“But why didn’t she tell me?” I muttered to myself.
“She wanted it to be a surprise,” Sarah replied. “She even asked her sister Karen to return the car for her after the trip.”
A wave of unease washed over me. Karen? Why would she return the car, and why hadn’t I known about it?
Determined to get answers, I drove to the rental company. When I explained the situation, the manager pulled up the records. “The car was returned without visible damage. We accepted it as normal, but… something seems off. Only a few miles were added to the odometer.”
I left the office with more questions than answers. Why had Karen returned the car? What was she hiding? I decided to contact the police, as the suspicion that Elizabeth’s death wasn’t an accident gnawed at me.
I explained everything to the detective—the car rental, the fortuneteller, my growing doubts. He listened carefully and assured me they’d investigate. “Initially, we ruled it a tragic accident caused by brake failure,” he said. “But now, with what you’ve shared, we’ll take a closer look.”
The days that followed were a blur. Then, the police found something shocking—evidence that someone had tampered with the brakes. My stomach churned as the horrifying truth began to surface.
It wasn’t long before the investigation revealed even more. Karen had taken out a life insurance policy on Elizabeth just months before the accident. She had forged Elizabeth’s signature and made herself the sole beneficiary.
I was sickened. Elizabeth’s death hadn’t been an accident—it was murder. And the person behind it was her own sister.
When Karen was arrested, I couldn’t even look at her. The woman who had comforted me in my grief had been the one to cause it all, driven by greed.
During interrogation, she confessed to tampering with the car’s brakes, hoping to collect the insurance money. The betrayal was devastating.
Karen was sentenced to life in prison. It didn’t bring Elizabeth back, but at least I knew she would never harm anyone again. The fortuneteller had been right—Elizabeth couldn’t rest until justice was served.
A few weeks later, I returned to the cemetery. As I stood by Elizabeth’s grave, I whispered, “You can rest now.”
Just as I was about to leave, a butterfly landed on her headstone. I knew it was Elizabeth, finally at peace.
Though I never saw the fortuneteller again, her words had led me to the truth. As painful as it was, that truth was worth every penny of the twenty dollars I had given her.
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