He squeezes her arm closer and says, "Why, I would say just the same of you. Perhaps-- perhaps we will never come back. We-- we could live in a hut on an Italian island and never be troubled by anyone at all."

He blushes and ducks his head. Right, he's not good at spontaneous flights of fancy out loud-- really, it's surprisingly different from just having them in your head-- but he's tired and he did have a bit to drink and he loves his wife more than any of the words he knows to describe it can possibly contain.