My one of a kind souvenir


Santorini was our second last destination on our dream holiday. We’d shopped in Dubai; played on the rocks in Croatia and swam in the Adriatic Sea, partied in Mykonos and made our way to the romantic Santorini. The brochures didn’t do this place justice, the white buildings, the crystal-clear water and those sunsets over the Caldera that take your breath away.

I didn’t know my partner Iain had woken up in a hot sweat at least three times that night, I woke up fresh as a daisy with no idea that this particular day would be an extraordinarily memorable one.

The weather so far in Santorini had been a little windy, this day was picturesque. I remember at breakfast when we sat with the sun on our backs looking at the water, taking full advantage of the buffet and thinking we’re going to have a ripper of a day.

We walked into the main part of town negotiating our way through the skinny alleys filled with tourists checking their maps. We stopped to listen to buskers, took some pictures of the view and got into town.

On our way I spotted a bottle of Verve rosé in a window – I’d never had rosé champagne before. “I wonder if that would be any good?” I say to Iain, “love to try it”.

We were booked in for a couple’s massage – which I thought was life-changing, Iain described it as torture. Turns out a deep tissue isn’t his forte.

Next thing I know its late afternoon. We’d booked dinner at this lovely spot the day before. “You’d better get ready,” says Iain “we’ll be late otherwise”.

You know those holidays where you lose track of time, that was the headspace I was in. My wrist was free of a watch, had no idea even what day it was so didn’t question the need to get ready quickly.

I didn’t know we were well ahead of time, and that Iain had a plan brewing before dinner.

I was hell-bent on wearing a sexy short bright purple dress I’d been saving all trip. The weather was perfect and I whipped it out, but as soon as I did Ian says “it’s not very Santorini, is it? Wear something else!”

Jesus, I’m glad he did that, otherwise, my engagement photos would look like I’d returned home from a big night at Mooseheads. But I digress, a costume change and one smart pantsuit later I’m ready to rock.

“We need to go,” says Iain.

“I just wish we had five more minutes, I’d love to re-do my hair,” I say.

“Well you actually have 25 more minutes, I got you ready early so we could have a Champagne on the balcony.”

The Verve rosé I spotted earlier had magically appeared on the balcony with two glasses. You’d think the penny might have dropped then, you’d be wrong.

As soon as we poured a glass our neighbours in the adjoining room came home. We affectionately called them The Frenchies – they were a sophisticated French couple who would attempt to chat to us in French. We wouldn’t understand a word each other were saying but seemed to get along all the same.

The Frenchies pulled up a seat next to us, which seemed to bug Iain.

Little did I know his plan was to propose right there before we got interrupted. Damn the fun Frenchies.

He lured me away to a spot ‘for a photo’ and as soon as he said: “Kristen, now that we have a private moment”… I knew.

Something immediately happened to my eyes. They turned to taps.

He told me not to cry yet. Too late.

He asked me to be Mrs Davidson, I said, of course, I will and just like that my world changed.

We went to dinner, I hardly ate. I was too busy staring at this ring he had designed and was overwhelmed by the undercover work I was now becoming privy too.

He had carted this ring around the world with us, unbeknown to me.

He’d asked my father the day before we left.

He waited until the perfect moment.

We came home that night, finished the bottle of Verve on the balcony (minus the Frenchies) and talked, laughed and made plans. Glorious plans.

That’s not the end though – my friends are trying to talk me out of getting married! 


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