Complete Me (The Stark Trilogy)

to see you again, Nikki. Hopefully next time it will be in person with a glass of my best wine.”
    “I’d like that.” When I met Alaine, I hadn’t been able to place his accent. Since then, Damien has told me that he grew up in Switzerland. It’s still not an accent I would recognize easily, but listening now, I can hear the influences of both French and German.
    “I’m sorry I wasn’t available when you called earlier. Your message said it was about Sofia?”
    “She’s gone again,” Damien says. “Checked herself out a few days ago and took off. I haven’t been able to find her, and I thought she might have called you.”
    “You are in luck, my friend,” he says. “I know exactly where she is.”
    I meet Damien’s eyes and see the flash of relief. “Where?”
    “Shanghai.”
    “Shanghai?” Incredulity laces his voice. “Why? When did you talk to her?”
    Alaine’s brow furrows. “Three—no, four days ago. Do you remember David, that drummer she was intrigued with a few years back? Apparently his band is booked for a week in a club there. She said she might be in Chicago, too, if a job the band is hoping for comes through.”
    Damien presses his fingertips to his temple. His expression is an odd mix of softness and concern. It’s a paternal expression, the kind I imagine I’d see if he was worried about our own kids one day.
    Our kids?
I stiffen, but in surprise, not fear. The thought came unbidden, but it is not terrifying. On the contrary, it’s soothing, as if I’ve been given a sneak peek into the future, and it is a future with Damien and a family.
    “She called you?” Damien asks Alaine. “I’ve been trying to reach her by cell, but it just rolls over to voice mail.”
    “It was a video call,” he says. “I asked if she’d talked to you, but she didn’t want to bother you during the trial. I’m surprised she hasn’t called you now that it’s over, but knowing Sofia, she hasn’t seen the news.”
    “Can you conference her in through the account she used?”
    I see Alaine’s eyes shift up, as if he’s examining the various options on his computer monitor. “I think so. Hang on.” Alaine’s image stays on the screen, but a smaller box appears in the corner. It’s a snapshot of a girl with spiky black hair tipped with red. She has a multi-pierced ear filled with tiny silver rings. Her elven face is small and delicate and her skin is unnaturally pale. Her deep brown eyes are ringed with pitch-black kohl. The only color comes from her lips, which are wide and full and striking with bloodred lipstick. It’s hard to tell her age, but even though Damien said that Sofia is almost thirty, she looks barely twenty to me. Then again, I have no idea how old this image is.
    “I think this will do it,” Alaine says, then almost immediately adds, “Well, damn the girl.”
    It takes me a second to understand what has happened, but then I see that a red X has appeared as a watermark over the image. “What is that?” I ask.
    “She’s closed her account,” Damien says. “You don’t have another contact number?”
    “Other than her cell phone? No.” Alaine’s mouth is curved down into a frown. “I swear I don’t know what she’s thinking half the time. But she said she’d call after Shanghai and let me know where they’re going next.”
    “Tell her to call me, too. For that matter, hook me into the call.”
    “Will do. And, Damien, don’t worry. She will turn up. She always does. And we both know that she is a mercurial soul.”
    “She’s a disturbed soul,” Damien says.
    “Aren’t we all?” Alaine says, but there is a sparkle in his eyes, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t understand the fundamental truth of his words.
    As soon as the screen goes blank, Damien calls Ms. Ives back in and gives her a list of instructions, including searching the file for David and then tracking his current band to Shanghai. She takes meticulous notes and promises to contact him the moment she has information. As soon as she’s left, Damien folds me into his arms.
    “Are you okay?”
    “Frustrated,” he says. “But I’m fine.”
    I see the worry etched on his face, but when he looks at me and smiles, it all seems to fade.
    “Thank you,” he says.
    “For what?”
    “For everything.”
    My answering smile is so broad it’s almost painful. “Anytime, Mr. Stark.”
    “I think I’m done here for now,” he says. “You’ve never been to London, have you? Do you