Susan Sarandon’s 39-year-old daughter tied the knot in a beautifully enchanting ceremony. Despite looking radiant in her glamorous corset wedding gown, the new bride has found herself at the center of strong criticism from the public regarding her ensemble. Photos and details of the joyous occasion have been shared online.
Like a page straight out of a fairytale, Eva Amurri, daughter to iconic actress Susan Sarandon and famous director Franco Amurri, wed her beloved fiancé, Ian Hock, on June 29 in a stunning garden-themed ceremony. Pictures of the bride and groom saying “I do” in New York’s Hudson Valley have prompted strong reactions from the public, especially where Eva’s dress is concerned. Opting for a more personal and intimate gathering, Eva and Ian exchanged vows in front of 40 guests. In addition to Eva’s mother, the guests included Susan’s ex, Tim Robbins. Adding a layer of sweetness to the day was the fact that the 39-year-old lifestyle blogger and actress’s children played a special role in the ceremony.
Marlowe Mae, Major James, and Mateo Antoni Martino, whom Eva shares with her ex-husband Kyle Martino, performed a traditional handfasting using ribbons they picked out themselves.
Speaking about incorporating her kids in her special day, Eva, who also shared an array of images from her big day on her Instagram Story, explained, “We really wanted to center our little family unit in all of it, and make it as much about the kids as it was about us.”
I Allowed a Homeless Woman to Stay in My Garage—One Day I Walked in Unannounced and Was Shocked by What I Saw
I tapped the steering wheel, trying to shake the weight on my chest, when I spotted a disheveled woman digging through a trash can. I slowed down, drawn in by her grim determination.
She looked fragile yet fierce, fighting for survival. Without thinking, I pulled over, rolled down my window, and asked, “Do you need help?”
Her response was sharp but tired: “You offering?”
“I just saw you there,” I admitted, stepping out. “It didn’t seem right.”
“What’s not right is life,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “You don’t strike me as someone who knows much about that.”
“Maybe not,” I replied, then asked if she had a place to stay.
“No,” she said, and I felt compelled to offer my garage as a temporary home. To my surprise, she accepted, albeit reluctantly.
Over the next few days, we shared meals and conversations. Lexi’s sharp wit broke through my loneliness, but I could sense her hidden pain.
One afternoon, I barged into the garage and froze. There, sprawled across the floor, were grotesque paintings of me—chains, blood, a casket. Nausea hit me.
That night, I confronted her. “What are those paintings?”
Her face went pale. “I didn’t mean for you to see them. I was just… angry.”
“So you painted me as a monster?” I demanded.
She nodded, shame in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I struggled to forgive her. “I think it’s time for you to go.”
The next morning, I helped her pack and drove her to a shelter, giving her some money. Weeks passed, and I felt the loss of our connection.
Then, a package arrived—another painting. This one was serene, capturing a peace I hadn’t known. Inside was a note with Lexi’s name and number.
My heart raced as I called her. “I got your painting… it’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. I didn’t know if you’d like it,” she replied.
“You didn’t owe me anything,” I said, reflecting on my own unfairness.
“I’m sorry for what I painted,” she admitted. “You were just… there.”
“I forgave you the moment I saw that painting. Maybe we could start over.”
“I’d like that,” she said, a smile evident in her voice.
We made plans to meet again, and I felt a flicker of hope for what could be.
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