50 SHADES OF GREY

Prologue

Ana's point of view: My body is shaking with shock at the news. A baby? No fucking way, no way, NO WAY!!! Uselessly my mind is trying to grasp this staggering piece of information. Like a small child, I'm hopelessly, helplessly trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. I know Christian is going to go ape-shit on me, thermonuclear and then some. How could I have let this happen? In a daze I falter to the waiting Audi where Sawyer is already opening the door for me. Vaguely I register the frown of concern on his face as he takes in the pale moon of mine.

"Where to, Mrs. Grey?" he asks with his head cocked to the side, grappling with why I look like I've seen a ghost.

"The apartment, please." I squeeze out the words past the strangling hands that have gotten hold of my throat as I duck into the car. The frantic beat of my heart provides a brisk tempo for the rising panic, a brewing swell of emotions ready to choke me. My breath comes in short, sharp bursts; hot tears sting behind my eyes but I blink them away. Using the last of my will to keep my words from wobbling, I ask, "When will Christian arrive back from Portland?"

"We're expecting him later this afternoon, ma'am, around three, I believe," he confirms with a brief glance at me in the rearview mirror, the worry lines still visible on his brow.

Okay. I have time. I reach for calm as I exhale a long breath, forcing the air through the circle of my mouth. What to do, what to do.....?He's mentioned children before, but in a disconnected way, as if he could only imagine them in a vision of some distant, ethereal future. Even I know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that now is not that time. I can't help wondering if he'll be so opposed that he'll make me get rid of it. I know that I would, if he asked me to.

No! Not my little blip! I run a protective hand over my still-flat belly - the belly that, for now, holds a devastating secret. I issue a shuddering sigh as I slide trembling fingers through the strands of my disheveled hair, staring unseeing out of the window. In spite of the heat in the car, I shiver, chilled as the bile of panic burns the back of my throat.

I know Christian thinks that he loves me; he says it all the time, but this is a first for us both. We're in love - for now - but the shiny newness, and this much I know, never lasts forever. All too soon the reality of full-time commitment seeps into even the happiest relationship and in love gives way to what? Companionship, if you're lucky, and if not - boredom, indifference, or worse: resentment. I've seen it often enough with my mom, currently drifting through her fourth marriage. She once said that her world began and ended with Ray but I remember, all too well, that even that love wasn't enough. And since Ray, she's managed to blaze her way through two more men.

Mentally I groan, how did I ever think I could hold on to this man? Uninvited, my cruel subconscious suddenly rebukes me with myriad scenes, flitting them through my mind as a visual reminder. I see images of so many people, even my mom, surprised at his interest in me. How on earth could I have missed these cues? If the love- tinted glasses I've been wearing blinded me this much, I can only assume it's been the same for him. Sooner or later he'll wake up to the shock of reality.

As if to confirm my realization, the nagging thought that I've tried so hard to suppress slithers back into my head, always unwelcome, constantly gnawing, telling me that I'll never be enough for a man like him. No one understands better than I do that I can never be everything he needs, maybe even more so than Elena did when she hissed those words of accusation to me on the night of his party. The scalding memory of Dom Christian accepting Leila's complete submission fills my mind's eye. It's all I can do to stop the dread from advancing, stealing more and more of my sanity.

My scattered faculties abruptly regroup, organizing themselves into a vague plan that becomes clearer as I shift my focus away from the cracks patterning over my heart. I can leave, hide, start over. The notion, at first, is as foreign as it is inconceivable, but I love him too much to hurt him like he's been hurt before. I must stop forcing him into being something that he's not. How can I ask him to be a father when I know he fears that more than anything?