The genteel argument had turned to silence in the limo.  Ridiculous, of course, but they weren't there to soak in the atmosphere of a Caribbean island with colorful golf carts with canvas awnings or walk along the beach and let sand filter down into expensive loafers and sandals.  Heavens no, there might be sweat and they weren't dressed for it.  So instead of the rich scent of salt water and tropical flowers, exotic foods and locals, they sat in air conditioned luxury.  Her mother pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes, complaining of headache.  Her father browsed plans and jotted notes on his ipad, and Suzanne peered out the window, smiling faintly as she took in the bikini clad bodies, the palm trees, and, of course, the evidence of an abundant night life -- though it was little more than half-empty tables separated by colorful barriers.<br/><br/>The hotel might have been set down in any city of the world.  It was elegant, all cool lines, bright lights valiantly to penetrate dark shaded, reflective glass.  The doorman was quick to spring into action, opening doors as uniformed bellhops swarmed out to collect the luggage.  There was no real local color.  Even the paintings hung in the wall depicting beach scenes were painted by a European artist, tastefully color coordinated.<br/><br/>The moment her father was through the door, there was someone there to welcome him, hand outstretched for a hearty masculine grasp.  Suzanne idly assessed the man, noting that his suit was tailored and conservative, but suited to the warm clime.  He was handsome in polished fashion, and had the bonhomie of a politician, perhaps a diplomat or lawyer.  It didn't really matter, and Suzanne paid little attention to the conversation as her mother took care of the formalities of the check-in.  As soon as her digital key was texted to her cellphone, Suzanne said goodbye to her mother with a kiss on the proffered , sketched a little salute to her father and his earnest conversational partner, and headed off to the elevators.<br/><br/>"Don't forget, Suzanne.  Be ready at eight!" Her mother chimed to her retreating back, and she lifted a languid hand in acknowledgement.  There was time for a quick dip in the pool, then perhaps a nap in the luxury room ... then she'd go to the dinner and smile and clap on cue.  As soon as her chain was cut, that's when the real fun would begin and she wanted to be rested and alert enough to stay awake through the boring speeches.  The more she played the dutiful daughter part for the photo ops, the more she would be left alone the rest of the time to suit herself.<br/><br/>Inside her room, she took a few moments to step out onto the balcony and breathe in the fragrant, invigorating air, to let the sun shine down on her dark hair and blaze away the air conditioned chill.  Her luggage, half her mother's number, was already inside the room, the leather suit bag with her dress for the night's dinner already hung up.  Things were packed for the convenience of packing rather than to leverage available space, and likely she would buy more clothes ... she always did.   A few minutes and she was ready to change into her bathing suit, a champagne colored number that highlighted the lines and curves of her body.  Later, depending upon who had the suite whose balcony adjoined hers, she might indulge in some sunbathing there ... but at the moment, she wanted to see and be seen, and that would best be accomplished at one of the pools.<br/><br/>Clad in suit, sandals, and an open wrap that was almost sheer, a shimmering midnight blue fabric, she took the elevator back down, a towel over her arm, her cellphone in hand with its handy apps and identification for the bar.  She was supposed to be on vacation, but it wasn't that different from her normal schedule.  Did that mean that her life was a perpetual vacation, or that she, like her father, worked 24/7?<br/><br/>Her smile, eyes concealed behind wide, dark lenses, was a trifle bitter, but only a trifle.  Already the excitement of new discovery, of setting new boundaries and breaking them, was a tight little quiver in her stomach, in her thighs, as she sauntered out, confident that she was one of the beautiful people and yet all too aware that the shell of beauty was ... in her world ... a fragile one.