Now and Forever

By J. R. Zimmer

The enemy will try to break her, is love enough to save her?

Charles was beginning to believe his destiny was to be a master at creating happy endings on film, but his own dreams would never come true.
Rosalinda has denied her feelings far to long for the man she loves.
He had waited a lifetime to have her, but would a madman take her from him, and would his love be enough?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. R. Zimmer
• Release date: Mar 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463018521

J. R. Zimmer

About the author J.R. Zimmer is the author of the Fisher/Lafayette Series and a part-time artist who lives in Bismarck, North Dakota. The Badlands of this region have become a source of inspiration for her. Her love of history and the fascinating characters of Antoine-Amédée-Marie-Vincent Manca de Vallombrosa, the Marquis de Morès, and his wife, Medora, inspired her to write the Fisher/Lafayette Series.

Book preview

Chapter One

One month later.

Charles Lafayette entered the restaurant, excited to know his vision of adding a backlot to his motion picture company would take place soon.

Over the past few years, his company had been gradually acquiring neighboring land surrounding Lafayette Productions. As neighborhoods became abandoned or owners wanted to sell, they saw an opportunity for expansion. All that was left was for him to sign the paperwork drawn up by his lawyers. Once approved, that area would officially belong to him and his production company, completing the 26-acre expansion behind the studio. Then they could begin demolishing the neglected apartment buildings and houses that were long ago deserted and now in decay and ruin.

He preferred to shoot his films on location, but certain scenes were more practical to film on a backlot. There were others who required a larger space for their own productions and would pay whatever price he charged for its use.

Business was business, after all. His company was running in the black, financially, and he would keep it that way if it was within his power to do so.

If there was one thing he could claim to be successful at, it was having the Midas touch in the movie industry.

He was worth millions.

His personal life, however, was another story. He had been foolish enough to have fallen in love with a woman who would probably never return his affection. Although he had told himself countless times to move on and find some other woman, his heart would not comply. He had tried to find interest in someone else over the past few years, but to date, he had encountered no one remarkable or captivating enough to give a second thought to.

He acknowledged he was a fool but could not change the fact he was old fashion. He was thirty-eight years old, and would no doubt die a lonely man.

Not that he hadn’t experienced sex with a woman before.

There were a few times in his college years he had taken a woman to bed. But that had been before he met Rosalinda Vallombrosa. No other woman appealed to him after she had entered his life.

The first time he had seen her, he became smitten. She had been fifteen years old then. Far too young for him, but he had not thought of her sexually until she had grown older.

Rosalinda’s brother, Dominic, who had been a collage classmate for a brief time, made the introductions. Her gracefulness had drawn him to her.

Then, he saw her talent for acting.

The moment he saw her grace the stage for the first time, he knew Rosalinda was destined for stardom.

When Rosalinda turned seventeen, Charles cast her in a small part, in one of his first movies, and discovered how much the camera loved her.

Photographers were quick to notice how well Rosalinda could, virtually, have an affair with the lens of a camera. After that production, she quickly became one of the most sought-after women for modeling, just about anything.

At eighteen, she had blossomed into a woman. That was when he had known he was in trouble with a capital T.

He had tried to tell himself he was too old for her. But that did not mean his heart listened, and each time he heard the rumors of her many rendezvous and sexual encounters, his heart would feel as though it would break.

So many times, he’d wanted to invite her to share a meal with him, but he was afraid of being rejected and ridiculed. So instead, he kept his feelings hidden. But did she not realize? Those men she slept with did not truly care for her. Did she not see that she was worth so much more than being used for sexual pleasure?

While other men would grab her from behind, press their lips to hers, and make inappropriate comments, Charles was the complete opposite; he never laid a hand on her and always treated her with the utmost respect she deserved.

And it had gotten him nowhere, except to have an empty heart and broken dreams. Rosalinda appeared not to see him as a man whom she could love.

Across the restaurant, Charles saw his lawyers and business partners, already seated at a long table in the back of the establishment.

When they spotted him, they waved him over to them.

Charles was just passing a table where an older woman, and possibly her daughter, sat enjoying their meal. Without warning, the younger woman pushed away from the table, stood up, and turned around.

She gave a startled squeal when she knocked into him. She would have fallen backward, had Charles not reached out to steady her.

Oh! the woman exclaimed, placing a hand to her heart. I am so very sorry!

She spoke English, and he smoothly switched from the French language to speaking in what seemed to be her native tongue.

It is all right. No harm done. He steadied her. Are you all right, mademoiselle?

Yes! she said, her voice sounding like a nervous laugh. It was clumsy of me, not to look to see if anyone was behind me.

Charles regarded the attractive blonde. It surprised him he noticed her hair color, when the only color of hair to draw his attention over the past fifteen years was raven black.

He glanced at the woman sitting at the table and tried not to grimace. She reminded him of a skeleton with only enough skin on her body to cover the bones.

The blonde drew his attention back to her. I am Aimée-Louise Fontaine, she motioned to the skull and bones on the other side of the table, This is my mother, Lilith.

His manners had him doing a slight bow to the older woman. It is nice to meet you. I am Charles Lafayette. Now, if you two ladies will please excuse me, I have a meet….

Lilith smiled like a cat who’d unexpectedly discovered a bowel of fresh cream. Charles Lafayette? Her gaze shifted slyly towards her daughter before returning to the man in front of her. Charles Lafayette? she asked, with a hint of mischief in her voice. You wouldn’t be the same Charles Lafayette who owns Lafayette Productions, would you?

Yes, he acknowledged, then tried to say again, Please excuse me, he motioned to the group of men waiting for him. I have a meet…

Lilith couldn’t contain her excitement as she exclaimed, Oh my goodness! Her eyes were fixated on her daughter, seemingly trying to convey a message without words. Aimée-Louise, can you believe this incredible coincidence?

Aimée-Louise expression as she gazed at her mother was one of disbelief and dread.

Well? Lilith’s voice seemed to convey a message in one word.

After a moment of hesitation, Aimée-Louise’s gaze returned to Charles and she forced a smile onto her face. Absolutely! Her voice sounded strained. It’s wonderful to meet you. Would you care to take a seat?

Ladies, please. I am here for a meeting.

Oh, I’m so sorry! Aimée-Louise exclaimed. Please forgive us for interrupting. Since you seem busy right now and can’t join us at our table, we would be delighted to have dinner with you tomorrow evening instead.

Their audacity took him by surprise. Maybe it was because they were American; their English accents certainly hinted at it. Folks from that country didn’t seem to possess the same etiquette as the French.

He shook his head and said, I apologize, but I must take my leave. He couldn’t help but add the obligatory phrase he learned from his childhood, It was nice meeting you. Even though he didn’t mean it. There was something about the mother that irked him, but he didn’t bother to wait for her response or figure out what it was that bothered him. He simply turned and headed towards the table where his team of lawyers and colleagues were eagerly waiting for him.

Chapter Two

Charles made his usual Monday morning visit to the Louvre museum. He took pleasure in examining the masterpieces on display. The collections were so immense that he doubted he would ever be able to see every piece within the museum’s walls.

He discovered a long time ago that when he viewed the collections, his mind would clear. He would feel refreshed and inspired for his own creativity and could face the demands put on him that week, whatever they may be. It was easier for him to choose a script or resolve how he wanted a scene in a film blocked after spending time at the world’s largest art museum.

This morning, as usual, a bustling crowd of visitors filled the halls of the former royal palace. The building now housed collections of Western art and displays from ancient civilizations. The sound of their voices bounced off the lofty walls as they mingled. Today, Charles found himself wandering into one of the museum’s many painting galleries. The canvases in this room were massive, some reaching up to twenty feet tall and thirty-two feet wide.

Some of his favorite paintings on display were La belle ferronnière, by Leonardo da Vinci; and the Grande and Odalisque by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres. However, he liked more than only those few paintings hung in the room.

There were countless others he could name that also captured his attention.

Charles paused before the canvas titled, The Raft of the Medusa, painted by Théodore Géricault between 1818-1819. The oil painting was sixteen feet tall and twenty-three feet wide, depicting the survivors and casualties of the Medusa shipwreck. The Medusa had been a 40-gun, Pallas-class frigate of the French Navy. In 1816, because of inept navigation by the ship’s captain, the Medusa struck the Bank of Arguin, off the coast of Mauritania. It was a complete loss. Only fifteen people, out of four hundred passengers, survived. There had only been enough lifeboats for about half of the passengers.

Charles’s eyes roamed the canvas, always amazed by a painter’s ability to create such lifelike renditions of the human body.

This painting had a raft in the center that filled most of the canvas. The raft, already broken, was being battered by the waves without mercy; the naked and half-clothed men holding on to whatever they could, to stay out of the water.

He stood there, viewing the masterpiece for almost a half-hour.

Glancing at his watch, he determined to allot himself another half-hour at the museum before finding somewhere to eat lunch, then drive to the studio to take care of some business.

He turned around, knowing that on the opposite wall was the portrait of the Charging Chasseur, painted in 1812 by Théodore Géricault.

As he approached the piece, there were only a handful of people examining it. A man and woman, who appeared to be a couple based on their handholding, stood towards the right side of the painting. On the other side, a group of five individuals gathered. In the middle, he noticed a slim blonde woman who seemed vaguely familiar. However, in his line of work, he interacted with dozens of people each day and saw hundreds of faces while filming, so he couldn’t be sure if he knew her or not.

Ultimately, it made little a difference if he’d made her acquaintance before.

Charles stopped beside her, a few feet from her right.

If she knew him, she could say hello first.

No sooner had he begun viewing the Charging Chasseur, when he heard the woman say, Oh my goodness, Mr. Lafayette! I can hardly believe I almost collided with you a few days ago, and now, by chance, here we are again.

Charles turned, startled to see the woman he had prevented from falling at the restaurant last week.

He tried to remember her name. His mind tried to sort through the vast list of names in his head, searching for the one that fit the woman’s attractive face.

She rescued him by saying, Aimée-Louise, as though she had known he was trying to remember the name she had given him.

Ah, yes. It is nice to see you again.

She chuckled as she responded, That’s very sweet of you to say. I am afraid I did not make a good first impression. She glanced around the room. Do you come to the Louvre often? This is my first time visiting Paris, as well as the museum. The artwork here is stunning, so I do not wish it to be my last.

Yes, it is, he agreed, glancing around the space, looking for her mother. Lilith, is not with you? Or is she viewing another section of the museum? Why he suddenly thought of the ancient Egypt exhibit and the mummies there, he wasn’t entirely certain. Regardless of the older woman reminding him of skin and bones, it had not been a charitable thought. No one asked to be born looking a certain way, and he was sorry he had had the unkind thought.

Aimée-Louise shrugged and explained, She instructed me to do this independently. She shook her head, as if regretting what she had just said. But I’m actually enjoying myself. It’s fascinating to become engrossed in a painting and study every brush stroke. I also enjoy pondering what the painter was thinking when creating their masterpiece. Take this image for example; the horse appears to be rearing away from some unseen threat. I like to contemplate: is there truly an attacker, or is the horse simply hesitant to move forward?

Charles couldn’t help but smile, his face lighting up with excitement. That’s exactly what I’ve wondered while admiring this painting! And before they knew it, they had moved on to discussing other works of art, dissecting brush strokes and deciphering symbolism.

At some point, Charles suddenly realized that he had lost all track of time. As he glanced down at his wristwatch, he was surprised to see that two whole hours had flown by without his notice. Luckily, he didn’t have anyone to answer to since he owned the production company. Nevertheless, Charles prided himself on being a punctual man and was worried about how late he would arrive at his office today. He couldn’t believe it, but he had actually been enjoying Aimée-Louise’s non-stop chatter and even found himself admiring her infectious smile.

Rosalinda’s image briefly crossed his mind, but he quickly pushed it away with determination. He had wasted too much time hoping for something that would never happen. It was time to let go and move on with his life.

Aimée-Louise, he said, halting in front of Eugène Delacroix’s painting titled Women of Algiers, Would you be interested in joining me for lunch? He had not planned to linger with her longer, but the thought crossed his mind and the invitation seemed to come out of nowhere when I heard himself make the offer.

Aimée-Louise gasped and her hand flew to her chest as the unexpected offer took aback her. Mr. Lafayette, I would be humbled to accept your invitation. It is incredibly generous of you.

There is a wonderful place close by here and within walking distance. And please, call me Charles.

She nodded. All right…, Charles.

As they walked toward the eating establishment, Charles asked, Should we invite your mother? I could have my driver pick her up.

He cursed the manners his upbringing caused to be second nature to him. He wanted nothing to do with her mother and wished he hadn’t made the suggestion.

No! Aimée-Louise’s face contorted as she closed her eyes for a moment, then composed herself with a deep breath. I apologize. I did not intend for it to come out that way. What I meant was that she is currently visiting friends, and we are getting to know each other. She will be pleased to know that.

Feeling relieved, Charles smiled and let himself relax, as he knew her mother wouldn’t be joining them. Perhaps another time then, he stated, although he didn’t truly mean it. He motioned for her to enter the restaurant before him.

The conversation was light. When asked, Aimée-Louise told him she and her mother were from New York state and that she had grown up in its capital city, Albany.

Charles was familiar with the location. He owned a home in New York City that he occasionally visited for work-related trips overseas. The only other state he had been to was California, specifically Hollywood. However, he always flew on his private jet and never bothered to learn the geography between the two states. It mattered little to him.

His heart belonged to France.

And what brings you to Paris? he asked after the waiter took their order and scurried off to the kitchen to have it prepared.

Lifting the glass of water the waiter had set down before her, Aimée-Louise took a small sip, then another before saying, It was my mother’s idea. She thought it was best to leave…. Aimée-Louise coughed, excused herself, and began anew. She thought it would be an excellent time of year to visit this beautiful city.

He noticed her evident unease and wondered if he needed to be more cautious around her. But then again, he was in need of a distraction, so he decided to continue playing along for a bit and see if his instincts were right. And was she correct? Are you enjoying yourself so far? he asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

She nodded.

How fortunate to have friends to visit while you are here.

She stared at him a bit. Excuse me?

You mentioned your mother was visiting friends this afternoon.

Oh, yes. Of course. She gave a nervous laugh. That was another reason mother chose Paris. They are old friends from New York.

Charles smiled. "Perhaps I have heard of them. What